


And though they be but little, they are fierce.

by SarcasticSmiler



Series: And Though They Be [1]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alpha!Kíli, Alpha!Thorin, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Erebor Never Fell, BAMF Hobbits, F/M, Gen, M/M, Omega!Bilbo, Slow Burn, chapter specific warnings in notes, omega!Frerin, omega!Fíli
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-19
Updated: 2017-11-24
Packaged: 2018-09-18 14:36:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9389438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SarcasticSmiler/pseuds/SarcasticSmiler
Summary: THIS IS A REWRITE OF AN UNFINISHED FIC WITH THE SAME TITLEErebor is not a safe and prosperous place anymore. Thorin has no choice but to smuggle the golden omegas of Durin's line out and trust them to the Grey Wizard's keeping.Through the years he struggles to bring Erebor back to its former glory, while the golden omegas settle in the safest place in Middle Earth that Gandalf can find.Decades pass and at Gandalf's urging Thorin sends out messages requesting help reviving the land around the Lonely Mountain, those that answer the call aren't quite what any of the dwarrow were expecting.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a rewrite of the unfinished original with the same title which I fell despairingly out of love with. I still liked the idea, but I hated the writing. It wasn't properly planned and, to me at least, it felt horribly disjointed. I tried to keep writing it but in the end the only solution I could find was to rewrite it. I'm a lot happier with the newer version, I understand my characters better, I understand their natures better, so hopefully this'll all turn out much better than before.
> 
> I won't be deleting the original from here, so you're welcome to go read that still if you want.
> 
> For those who have read the original, I'm sorry for abandoning it if you actually liked it. This rewrite, though following the basics of the original, does differ a little at times. I hope you can like this as much as you liked the other one.

Thorin stalked through the halls of Erebor, the faint, ever present sounds of the mines echoing through the stone around him. With a heavy scowl upon his brow and an aggressive posture he managed to discourage any who passed from hailing him.

It was mere luck that no one noticed the unusual lump he carried beneath his jacket.

As he walked Thorin sent silent prayers to Mahal that his precious cargo would remain asleep, swaddled and pressed close to his steady heartbeat. The distinctive hair that had so worried his sister hidden in the warm shadows of his tunic.

Closing in on his destination, Thorin forced his fingers away from the hilt of his sword. The building tension within had his lip lifting and a snarl escaping before he could stop it. The unfortunate guards standing to attention at the entrance to the treasury’s hallway balked at the sound. Their heads dropping submissively as they quickly opened the heavy doors, practically hiding behind them as the Crown Prince swept through.

Waiting for the doors to close behind him, Thorin turned on his heel and walked away from the treasury proper. Instead marching towards a dimly lit corridor that housed four small rooms, whose thick doors only locked from the outside.

Thorin squinted into the gloom, nostrils flaring at the delicate scent that was a mere wisp on the stale air.

“Nori?” he called, voice low and gravelly.

“Highness,” Nori greeted, shifting just enough to emerge from the shadows.

“You’ve found him?” Thorin demanded.

“You have such faith in my skills,” Nori quirked a braided row at the agitated alpha Prince, words heavily laced with sarcasm.

“Nori,” Thorin growled, he had no time for the omega’s games, not when he could feel his swaddled cargo wriggle and whimper against him.

“Thorin, what…?” Nori began, sharp eyes noting the barely there noise and shift in Thorin’s clothes.

“Dís gave birth this night,” he grit out.

Nori’s eyes shot to Thorin’s, “And?”

“Omega,” Thorin growled, hand protectively coming up to cradle the bundle more tightly against him. Nori winced, cursing softly under his breath.

Faint voices from the direction of the treasury had Thorin freezing, hand pressing a little too hard against his bundle, as Nori melted in the shadows once more, but a small displeased whimper sparked him into action once more.

Easing his hold, Thorin peered into his tunic at the reddened little face scrunched up in clear displeasure.

“No, no, no, please, little one, hush, it’s alright,” he rumbled, swaying slightly to try and calm the new-born. “Nori, we need to do this _now_.”

“Already on it,” Nori snapped, dropping to his knees before one of the doors, lock picks in hand.

Thorin could only stand by and watch as Nori glared at the padlock, lips pursing in concentration before they heard the desired and distinctive _click_. Scrambling back to his feet, Nori carefully opened the door, allowing Thorin to slip through alone.

“Frerin?” Thorin called softly, shuffling into a deeper gloom than that which pervaded the corridor outside.

“Thorin?” turning to the sound of that rasping voice, Thorin finally saw the face he had dearly missed. “What are you doing here?”

“I’ve come to get you out.”

“Out?” pale golden brows pinched in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“I’m getting you out of this mountain.”

“But grandfather won’t let me leave.”

“Grandfather doesn’t have a choice,” Thorin growled, instantly regretting the flash of aggression when the far too thin dwarf cowered away from him, arms wrapped tight around the knees pulled to his chest.

Sighing, Thorin dropped to his knees before the barely of age omega, jostling the babe in the process, “Frerin, nadadith, I’m sorry.”

“What’s that?”

With a sad smile Thorin carefully uncovered the swaddled bundle, drawing the babe from the safety of his clothes.

“A sister-son,” he said, carefully laying the babe in too thin arms.

Frerin smiled at the babe, offering his finger for the little one’s flailing hand to grasp onto. The smile, however, slipped when he noticed the glint of golden hair in the dim light from the open door.

“No,” he rasped, wide, frightened blue eyes pleading with Thorin to tell him he was wrong.

“I’m getting you out of here,” Thorin promised, hand coming up to cup the babe’s head. “I sent Roäc to the Grey Wizard. I need you to go with him and take the child with you.”

“Thorin…”

“No, this is the only chance I have to keep you safe,” Thorin growled, gritting his teeth against the shameful tears burning his eyes.

“Al-alright,” Frerin swallowed, looking back down at the tiny omega in his arms. He could be strong for his sister-son, even if he couldn’t be strong for himself.

“Come,” standing Thorin helped Frerin to his feet, dismayed when he stumbled on unsteady legs.

“Thorin?” Nori hissed from the door. “We need to go, _now_.”

With an arm looped around Frerin’s waist, Thorin led them from the room to find Nori shifting restlessly in the shadows.

“This way,” Nori said, sad eyes watching as Frerin’s darted about like a skittish ram, ready to bolt, but fearful of the consequences.

As quickly and as quietly as they could, the trio slipped through the hidden tunnels and crevices carved into the mountain by the spies, thieves, and smugglers of ages past. Thorin kept a tight hold on Frerin’s waist, unaware that some of the tension and anxiety gripping his brother was due to that restrictive contact.

It had been a long time since Frerin had held any trust towards an alpha, and even longer since he held any for those he should deem kin. His years of suffering at the hands of this own alpha grandfather had taught him that, regardless of whatever Thorin had tried to do to aid him.

“Thorin,” Nori hissed from ahead. “This’ll take you beyond the mountain, I’ll wait for you here.”

With a nod of understanding, Thorin led Frerin out into the night.

The pale crescent moon offered just enough light to spot the shadowed figure of the Grey Wizard.

“Tharkûn,” Thorin said, relief evident in his tone. “You came.”

“Of course, young master Dwarf, with the state your grandfather in in, it would’ve been unwise for me to leave your call unheeded.”

“You have my gratitude, nonetheless, for answering my call so swiftly. You are certain you’ve found somewhere they’ll be safe?”

“They?” bushy grey brows rose at the term, eyes shifting to the bundle Frerin cradled protectively to his chest, wary eyes not leaving the wizard, though they didn’t quite meet his gaze.

“My sister-son was born this night.”

“And another omega joined the line of Durin?”

“Yes. You’ll keep them safe?”

“Master Dwarf, I give you my word that I am taking them to the safest place in all of Middle Earth. Your kin will be safe from any that wish them ill.”

Having no choice but to be satisfied with the wizard’s answer, Thorin turned to Frerin.

Frerin couldn’t stop the flinch as Thorin brushed golden strands of hair behind his ear before pressing their foreheads together. The gesture had once been comforting to the young omega, but now it only brought the bitter taste of fear to his mouth.

“Nadadith,” Thorin sighed, “I’ve done what I can, and now the journey ahead is one you must face alone.”

“What will you tell them?” he asked, voice clearly shaking.

“That the babe died in the womb,” Thorin answered with a heavy sigh, finally pulling away from his golden-haired brother, “and that you fell to the mines, trying to escape grandfather’s forced confinement.”

With a shaky nod, Frerin stepped away from his brother’s hold, towards the Grey Wizard and the towering stallion waiting patiently beside him.

“Hold the little one tight, young one,” Tharkûn smiled softly as he helped Frerin onto the stallion’s back. The babe woke once more at the jostling. Little face scrunching up and tiny fists waving angrily till they grasped one of Frerin’s messy braids as it slipped over his shoulder, the silver bead glinting dully in the moonlight.

The small smile curving Frerin’s lips at the sight froze and fell when Thorin rested a warm, calloused hand on his thigh.

“Frerin,” Thorin said, looking imploringly up at his brother. “I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you from him. I’m sorry I failed you in this, but I swear I _will not_ fail you again. I _will_ make this mountain great again, I _will_ make it safe again. And when that time comes, I’ll send for you and you can come home and be the prince you were always meant to be.”

Frerin looked down at Thorin’s shining blue eyes, not quite believing a single word falling from his lips. A part of him still loved his brother, forgave him even, but it was greatly overshadowed by his mistrust of all alphas.

Stiffening in instinctual fear as Tharkûn mounted behind him, Frerin looked back at his sister-son.

“What did she call him?” he asked quietly, barely flinching when Tharkûn reached for the reins.

“Fíli, Dís called him Fíli.”

“We must go if we are to reach a safe distance from the mountain before dawn is upon us,” Tharkûn interrupted.

Almost immediately Thorin removed his hand from Frerin’s thigh, “Go. Be safe, nadadith, be happy.”

Frerin nodded, slipping Fíli into his threadbare tunic to protect him from the cool wind as Tharkûn spurred the stallion into a gallop, racing away from the mountain and its gold mad king.

Thorin stared into the darkness till he could no longer hear the stallion’s hooves nor feel their vibration through the earth. He had done what he could, though it felt far from enough.

Slipping back into the mountain, he found Nori leaning against the wall, cleaning out his nails with a small, sharp dagger that Thorin was fairly certain belonged to Dwalin.

“He gone?” Nori asked, blowing the dislodged grit from the blade’s tip.

“Yes.”

“My underlings have created a distraction,” Nori offered. “Dwalin’s people are clearing up and reporting the Prince’s tragic fall in the unstable ruby mines.”

“Thank you, Nori,” Thorin said, he felt tired but restless, eager to either fall into bed and sleep, tear something apart, or beat someone bloody.

“I’d suggest you head back to the Princess,” Nori suggested, eyes noting Thorin’s tense shoulders as he tucked away the dagger. “I doubt she’ll be taking any of this well.”

“You’re likely right,” Thorin sighed, in no mind to comfort his grieving sister even though he knew it had to be done. “Lead the way, Nori.”

-x-

Thror did not take the news of Frerin’s passing well. Thorin could do nothing but stand by and watch as the gold mad King drew his sword and struck down the reporting guard with a single blow.

“Thieves! All of them!” he ranted, droplets of blood flying from his blade as he gesticulated violently. Thorin tried not to flinch as a drop struck his cheek. “You!”

Thorin’s eyes flicked to old Óin, the beta physician calmly stepped forward, ear horn already in place.

“Yes, your Majesty?”

“The child? Is it born yet?”

“I am afraid, your Majesty, that the Princess has delivered a still born.”

“What was it?”

“An omega, Sire.”

Thror growled, his teeth bared as he kicked at the guard’s corpse, “Even Mahal seeks to steal my gold from me! A thief in the shadows!”

Thorin winced at the blasphemy spilling from this grandfather’s lips. He could only watch as Thror growled and cursed before storming off to the treasury to wallow in his gold.

Gesturing to the remaining guards, Thorin oversaw the removal of the corpse before leaving the throne room, tension thrumming through his veins.

He needed to destroy something.

With a white knuckled grip on his sword hilt, he stormed to the training grounds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> nadadith - little brother  
> Tharkûn - Gandalf
> 
> I'm currently part way through writing the second chapter, but I feel so guilty over abandoning the original that I needed to post this before I was truly ready to show that I am actually working on it, promise


	2. Chapter 2

Frerin was saddle sore, tired, and utterly fed up with having his legs stretched far too wide over the stallion’s back as he cradled the steadily growing weight of Fíli to his chest. They had been on the road for two months now, the only extended stops they’d taken were when his heat had struck. Yet even those pauses had only lasted until he could bare to move again with only mild discomfort.

He wanted a break, he wanted to _rest_.

Sighing, Frerin shifted uncomfortably in the overly large chair he’d chosen by the fire. He ached everywhere, the situation not at all helped by the fact that he tensed at anyone and anything that came too close. The inn seemed nice enough, and Tharkûn didn’t appear to have any qualms about stopping in the ramshackle old town that Frerin was fairly certain was called Bree. Yet he couldn’t stop his fears coming to the fore at every dark shadow that danced too close.

A quiet gurgle shifted his attention to the babe cradled in his lap. Smiling softly, Frerin dipped a clean rag wrapped finger into the mug of warm milk wedged beside him before bringing it to the babe’s mouth. He couldn’t stop his small smile from growing as Fíli suckled hungrily, the soft golden down on his cheeks glistening in the firelight.

“Arrangements have been made,” Frerin flinched at the sudden words, looking up sharply as Tharkûn settled into the chair opposite him. “We’ve rooms for the night, and a hearty meal on its way.”

“How much longer will we be travelling?” Frerin asked, avoiding Tharkûn’s gaze as he dipped his finger once more.

“A day if we hurry, perhaps. Two if we do not,” Tharkûn answered, pulling a packed pipe from his robes.

“And we’ll be safe there?”

“My lad there is nowhere safer in all of Middle Earth, of that I can promise you.”

Frerin hummed somewhat noncommittally, not entirely trusting the word of the old Wizard.

-x-

The new day dawned grey and dreary. Frerin tucked Fíli more securely into his thick coat, before tugging his hooded cloak around them. Both were items that Tharkûn had purchased for him after their first week of travel had made it clear that Frerin needed more than his old and worn tunic to keep him warm.

“If we make haste, I think we’ll make it just in time,” Tharkûn decided, peering out from under his hat at the heavy dark clouds above them. Frerin glanced at the wizard dubiously, not uttering a word as he had no choice but to follow.

…they didn’t make it.

The heavens opened as they crossed the borders of the Shire; great, fat droplets of water soaking them in mere moments. Frerin hunched over, trying his best to shelter Fíli,  as his eyes darted around the surrounding landscape.

It was a lush land populated by what Tharkûn had called Hobbits, a small hardy folk that shared some heritage with the dwarrow.

_No safer place in all of Middle Earth_ , Tharkûn had said.

Frerin felt hard pressed to believe that as he squinted against the driving rain. Even through the dull grey cast by the weather, the endless green of the rolling hills was apparent to him. The only break in the sea of grass were fields sown with all manner of crops. Little gardens surrounded by little fences were small islands of vibrant colour among the winding paths. Cheerfully bright wooden doors and rain spattered, light filled windows dotted the landscape in clusters.

Frerin couldn’t help but wonder _how_ this place could possibly be safe when he couldn’t find a single aspect about it that suggested they were capable of defending their land. Though his knowledge of warfare was limited, even Frerin recognised that the Shire could be overrun in moments.

The fences were flimsy, designed to divide space rather than keep intruders out. The bright doors were made of easily battered down wood, and very few even seemed to have locking mechanisms installed. But it was the _windows_ that concerned him the most, made with glass that could so easily be shattered, the remaining hole left a large enough space from _anyone_ to invade the defenceless home.

A deep chuckle at his back made Frerin realise he’d said that last out loud.

“They are far from defenceless, my lad, though the hobbits may appear small and soft, do not underestimate them. They have a temper to rival even a dragon when sufficiently riled and have a deeper connection to the earth than even your miners digging in its depths could ever hope to comprehend.”

Frerin made a vaguely agreeing noise, eyes still flitting about, cataloguing every weakness and wondering at the madness of wizards.

They travelled for another hour though the deluge before Tharkûn finally brought their mount to a stop.

“Ah, here we are at last, my lad. Bag End,” Tharkûn’s voice rumbled behind him.

Blinking the rain from his eyes, Frerin looked up at the hill beside them, past the little fence, and up the steps to the round green door and welcoming golden light spilling from the windows.

“Come along, now,” Tharkûn urged, sliding to the ground before turning to help Frerin, “let’s be out of this rain.”

Hesitantly, Frerin followed him through the small gate and up the steps. Arms protectively cradling Fíli, he unashamedly hid behind the wizard’s grey bulk as he knocked on the door with the base of his staff, leaving a muddy smear behind.

“Gandalf?!”a feminine voice exclaimed.

“My dear Belladonna, you’ve positively blossomed since last we spoke,” Tharkûn greeted.

“Oh hush. Now then, where’s this poor dwarf you promised me?”

Shifting from behind Tharkûn, Frerin found himself faced with a heavily pregnant hobbit. Offering a cautious bow, introduced himself, “Frerin, at your service.”

“Oh, you poor dear!” the hobbit, who he could only assume was Belladonna, exclaimed, hands fluttering uselessly at him. “In immediately with you! Out of the rain and out of that sodden cloak. Bungo! Bungo, love, set the boilers to heating and the kettle to boiling!”

Stepping close enough for her to grab him, Frerin quickly found himself ushered inside into the warm. His cloak was quickly stripped and hung on a nearby hook to drip onto the floor. A sound of distress, however, slipped from his throat when she began tugging on his coat. Almost immediately the fussing stopped as Belladonna took in the way his arms were cradled against his front.

“May I see?” she asked, voice soft and comforting.

Hesitantly Frerin opened his coat enough for Belladonna to peer inside. His nose twitched at the scent of warm bread that emanated from the hobbit omega as she leaned forward for a better look.

Seeing little Fíli she blinked in surprise before her eyes narrowed in annoyance. Spinning on her large, bare heel she fixed the Grey Wizard with a glare harsh enough to cut diamonds.

“Gandalf! What is the meaning of this?!”

“Well I…” Frerin gaped as Tharkûn floundered before the irate hobbit.

“A _babe_ , Gandalf! You brought a _babe_ out into that atrocious weather?! Did it not occur to you to rest a while in Bree for the storms to pass before venturing to Hobbiton?”

“I merely wished to bring them to safety as soon as possible, dear Bella,” Tharkûn attempted to placate.

“’Merely wished’” Belladonna mocked, before taking the few steps needed to harshly poke at Tharkûn’s chest. “If that child falls ill from trekking through that storm I’ll show you the consequences of your ‘ _merely_ _wished_ ’.”

“He’ll be fine, dear lady,” Tharkûn tried again, stepping back slightly with his eyes darting about as the home seemed to groan in protest around them.

“He better be,” Belladonna’s eyes narrowed further before she turned back to Frerin, plump face brightening instantly. “So, what’s the little one’s name? Is he yours?”

“N-no, he’s not mine. He’s my sister’s,” Frerin answered, loosening his hold slightly when Fíli stirred against him. He couldn’t help but smile as Belladonna cooed over the hazy blue eyes blinking up at her, careful fingers stroking over the soft, golden down on his cheek. “She named him Fíli.”

“Such a little darling.”

“My dear, all is ready as you asked,” a rather plump hobbit seemed to appear out of nowhere, making Frerin jump.

“Bungo, love, you must meet our guests. This is Frerin and Fíli,” Belladonna introduced.

“Bungo Baggins, it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” the hobbit smiled with a slight bow of the head.

“Thank you for welcoming us into your home,” Frerin said, head automatically tilting down submissively. He was a little unsure what to make of Bungo, his scent clearly marked him as an alpha. Yet he seemed so laid back, so welcoming, and just so _unthreatening_ that Frerin was a little taken aback. He couldn’t help but assume Bungo was a weaker alpha. It was a well-known fact, after all, that the more outwardly aggressive alphas were the strongest. But he would submit, regardless, as even the weakest alpha was stronger than him.

“You’re very much welcome,” Bungo reassured, thumbs hooked in his braces as he rocked slightly on his heels. “Perhaps you’d feel better out of those wet clothes? A hot bath and a warm hearth can cure many woes, and what that doesn’t fix a good cup of tea should mend. I’m sure my Bella would be happy to fuss over you while I set the tea to brewing and heat some milk for the little one.”

“I do not ‘fuss’, my love,” Belladonna chided, even as her fingers twitched towards Frerin and the clothes slowly dripping a puddle around his boots.

“Of course not, dear,” Bungo agreed with an indulgent, loving smile, pressing a kiss to his omega’s plump, rosy cheek.

“Oh, off to the kitchen with you, you silly old hobbit,” Bella tittered as she ushered Frerin further into her home.

“Gandalf, would you care to join me in the kitchen? I fear it may be awhile before any omegas grace us with their presence again.”

“I’m sure you are quite right, lead the way, Master Baggins.”

-x-

“Now then, let’s get you clean and warm,” Bella said once the bathroom door closed behind them, bustling over to the spacious tub she set the hot water flowing. “Right while that fills you best get out of those wet clothes.”

“Um…” Frerin took a step back, the forthright hobbit omega unsettling him almost as much as her laidback alpha had done. “I…”

“Oh, come now, I’ll wager you haven’t got anything I’ve not seen before,” she smiled. “So hand me Fíli and off with the clothes.”

At Frerin’s visible hesitance, Belladonna’s face softened.

“I promise I am as likely to harm my own young one as I am yours. You’re safe here, truly.”

Seeing the sincerity shining in Bella’s eyes, Frerin allowed a small spark of trust to ignite for a fellow omega and hesitantly settled Fíli into her arms.

“Soft as a rose blossom, aren’t you petal?” she cooed, once again stroking Fíli’s downy cheek as he gurgled happily up at her. Frerin snorted quietly at the notion of a hardy dwarrow being compared to a flower of all things. Fíli was soft as polished stone and as delicate as golden filigree. He was not a rose blossom.

Dropping his coat and tunic to the tiles with a wet _splat_ , Frerin bent to fight with his boots. He grunted as he fought, and won, against the suction of sodden socks encased in leather.

“The bath is ready when you are,” Bella announced, turning off the water before looking at him just as he managed to wrestle off his trousers and underthings.

“What in Yavanna’s name…?” she clucked, free hand fluttering over Frerin’s chest and arms, though not touching the skin. “I can count your ribs! And are those bruises? What did they do to you? Oh no. No, no, no, no, this just won’t do.”

With hands attempting to cover his most private areas and a blush crawling up his neck to settle in his cheeks, Frerin shuffled past Bella to clamber into the tub and sink below the steaming, fragrant water.

“It wasn’t their fault, grandfather is ill,” he tried to defend, though the conviction in his words was flimsy at best.

“Not their fault? What a load of codswallop,” Bella tutted as Frerin sank deeper into the water, trying to hide the yellowing tone of healing bruises littering his skin. “Well I’ll tell you one thing, none of that ridiculousness will be happening here, oh no, not under my roof. We’ll see you fattened up and healthy, it’s just not right, seeing bones like that. And you mark my words, any unsavoury types that come sniffing around, my Bungo will take care of them. Though of course such types rarely make it past the Bounders.”

Frerin blinked at the ranting hobbit, rather overwhelmed at the situation he’d managed to find himself in.

“Well, naught to be done about it for now,” Bella huffed, bustling about like a ruffled hen. “Wash up, dove, and I’ll get this little one all cleaned up.”

Reaching for the floral scented soap, Frerin watched as Belladonna turned to the nearby basin, filling it with warm water before carefully unwrapping and easing Fíli into it. She hummed quietly as she cleaned, a jaunty little tune punctuated with Fíli’s little fists splashing happily in the water as he had his first true bath. Little cheeks coming up rosy pink under their golden down as the grime of travel was washed away.

Scrubbed clean, finally warm, and wrapped in the softest towel he’d ever felt, Frerin looked down despairingly at his sodden clothes.

“Do you think your other clothes will be as wet as these?” Bella asked, nudging the bedraggled pile with her toes, Fíli was drowsing in her arms, swaddled in his own plush towel.

“Other clothes?” Frerin frowned.

“Yes, other clo…oh by the Green Lady, please tell me this pile of wet rags aren’t your only clothes.”

Frerin looked down, bare feet scuffing the floor as shame burned his cheeks

“What in all of Middle Earth possessed you to travel so light?”

“Our departure was rather…rushed,” Frerin mumbled. “We didn’t have time to gather anything.”

“And Gandalf didn’t see fit to buy you more?”

“He bought me my coat and cloak,” Frerin protested weakly.

“And I wonder how long that took him,” Bella tutted. “Wizards. They spend far too much time with their heads in the clouds and certainly not enough connected to the ground. No matter, for now we’ll see if we can find something of Bungo’s that’ll fit.”

With a white knuckled grip on his towel, Frerin trailed after Bella, the wooden floors of the hobbits’ home surprisingly warm against his pale, bare feet.

“Take a seat,” she said after nudging open a door with her hip.

Finding himself in what could only be Bella and Bungo’s bedroom, Frerin perched hesitantly on the edge of the bed. Once he was seated he found his arms full of clean dwarfling, little fingers automatically reaching up to grasp one of his bedraggled braids.

“I’m sure we’ll have something you can wear,” Bella said, voice muffled as she rummaged in the large wardrobe.

Slowly a pile began to grow on the bed beside him as Bella tossed more and more clothes his way. Frerin blinked at the dizzying array of short trousers, cotton tops, and waistcoats being thrown through the air.

“Right,” she huffed, finally emerging from the wardrobe, her cheeks flushed with exertion. “Something out of that lot should fit. So up you pop and we’ll get you dressed.”

Settling Fíli on the bedspread, with pillows bracketing him so he couldn’t roll off, Frerin reached for the first pair of trousers.

A pair of trousers which promptly slipped off his hips and bundled on the floor when he stood.

“Oh dear,” Bella muttered, fingers coming to her lips as she clearly fought the smile that wanted to rise.

It took a while, but eventually Frerin was dressed in dark brown trousers that brushed his knees and had to be held up with braces, and a cream cotton shirt, indescribably soft from wear and washes.

“Much better,” Bella nodded, smiling as she used her bump to help fold the clothes that didn’t fit.

-x-

Entering the kitchen, Frerin stifled the smile that wanted to rise at the comical sight of Tharkûn’s intimidating figure hunched over and squished against the hobbit sized table.

“Take a seat, dove,” Bella coaxed, groaning in relief as she carefully lowered herself into a chair beside Bungo. Almost instantly the alpha reached out to rub soothing circles on her belly.

“Alright there, my dear?” he asked.

“Fine, love, he’s just being a bit of a busy bee today.”

Frerin watched, fascinated at the interaction. He jumped when Bella let out a slightly pained _oof!_ Bungo’s hand twitching from her stomach as though hit.

“That’s quite a kick,” Tharkûn chuckled.

“And don’t I know it, he beats my insides harder than old Mrs. Bolger beats her rugs,” Bella grimaced, shifting in her seat before turning her attention back to Frerin. “Eat up, dove, you’re welcome to anything you want.”

“I…” Frerin floundered at the options set before him.

There were fluffy sponge cakes and crumbly warm scones, sticky buns and jam filled tarts. He couldn’t decide. He was use to scraps and whatever salty, watered down stews offered at Inns. He wasn’t use to this.

Fíli, however, saved him from his floundering with a fussy mewl, a little fist yanking on his braid.

“Um, I think I should probably feed Fíli first.”

“Of course,” Bungo said with a smile. “I’ve warmed up some milk for the little one.”

Frerin watched, slight frown tugging at his brows, as Bungo lifted a small copper saucepan from the aga and poured warm milk into a strange looking bottle. Made of glass, its shape reminded Frerin of the boats he’d once seen the men of Esgaroth using.

“Here we are,” Bungo said, handing the bottle to Frerin.

Frerin stared at it, holding it carefully as the glass fogged slowly with the heat. He wasn’t sure what to do with it, the thing had openings at both ends.

“Here,” Bungo offered, carefully guiding Frerin’s hand so one opening was ever so slightly tilted against Fíli’s lips.

At the alpha’s touch, Frerin stiffened, heart pounding like a war drum.

Fíli’s face screwed up at the touch of cool glass, but at the first drop of milk he seemed to quickly realise what was happening. His greedy guzzling allowed Frerin to relax.

“Well that’s certainly a healthy appetite if ever I saw one,” Bungo praised, chuckling softly as he returned to his seat.

Settling back in his chair, Frerin let the conversation wash over him. The clink and clatter of cutlery on plates and saucers an almost soothing background noise. He could almost believe that they would be safe here with the warmth and comfort surrounding him. A peacefulness he’d not known before settled into his bones and a wave of weariness washed over him.

“Frerin?”

Startling Frerin looked up to find Belladonna beside him, fingertips resting lightly on his shoulder as she smiled down at him.

“Perhaps a little afternoon nap is in order? Come, I’ll show you where your room is.”

Standing with Belladonna’s help, he gently placed the now empty bottle on the table and followed the waddling hobbit back through the curving corridors of her home.

“Now, I’m afraid we don’t have a cot for Fíli,” she apologised as she opened a door to a cosy bedroom, “but we’ll rectify that tomorrow if the rain lets up enough.”

“I don’t mind keeping him in bed with me,” Frerin mumbled.

“Of course not, dove,” Bella smiled, “but sometimes it’s a little safer to keep wriggling little ones in cots.”

Nodding, Frerin stepped into the room to run his fingers over the soft patchwork quilt on the bed.

“Rest a bit, dove, and I’ll come wake you when dinners ready.”

“Thank you,” Frerin offered, finally meeting Bella’s eyes. They crinkled at the edges when she smiled.

“You’re welcome, now rest. I dare say the next few months will be a bit dizzying and overwhelming for you, so I’d rest while I can.”

Laying Fíli on the bed, Frerin offered a small smile Bella’s way as she closed the door behind her, leaving the pair alone.

Making sure Fíli was secure between two pillows and happily gumming on his own fist, Frerin inspected the round window letting in the dull afternoon light. The latch was secure and he was certain it was far too small for any alpha or orc to fit through.

“I suppose this is to be our home for now, Fíli,” he murmured, returning to the bed to run a finger over a downy cheek. Fíli gurgled happily in reply.

Slipping his braces free, he lay them over the wooden rocking chair by the small fireplace, before picking Fíli back up and crawling into bed.

He groaned as he settled, resting on his side with Fíli cradled against him, already sucking on a braid while his eyelids drooped.

The mattress was so soft, the quilt warm. Frerin almost felt like it couldn’t be real, a dream perhaps.

A damp fist hitting his nose soon woke him from that particular notion.

Pressing a kiss to Fíli’s forehead, Frerin breathed in his clean dwarfling scent. It relaxed something that had been tightly clenched in his chest.

“Where ever we go and whatever happens,” he promised, lashes fluttering as sleep called, “I’ll always protect you.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you know that the [history of baby bottles](https://www.alimentarium.org/en/magazine/history/history-baby-bottles) is actually quite interesting and also something I never thought I'd be researching? Anyway the bottle being used in this looks like [this](https://www.alimentarium.org/en/system/files/ealimentarium/emag4_collection_biberons_moderne_800_7853.jpg) and [this is it being used](http://images.bidorbuy.co.za/user_images/171/2526171/2526171_140317153113_i-1alenbury.jpg). I went with this particular bottle because though the hobbits obviously have glass, they don't have rubber or plastic. Which causes a problem when it comes to bottle teats. Now wooden bottles and porcelain bottles can be rife with germs, glass is easier to keep clean. So with the size of hobbit families I thought this would be the most suitable option.   
> I've also given hobbits an [aga](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/AGA_cooker) instead of a general cooker as I think it fits them better considering it's something that's meant to produce a constant warmth and make cooking easier.
> 
> Ok so technically this was meant to be longer as it was suppose to include Bilbo's birth and general meeting of other hobbits, but I liked how this ended and didn't want to ruin it. So that's all being shunted to the next chapter.  
> I have a plan for this, an actual complete chapter plan this time. Things that were in the original will be taken from this and posted as side stories instead if they don't really help the plot move along but I can't bear to lose them. Also the 'growing years' in the Shire, and the similar time frame in Erebor will be told in a drabble/vignette type style to help move things along.  
> ...only time will tell if this'll work or not.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who has commented and left kudos, you guys make me smile even when I feel like cursing this fic.

Thorin sat in his father’s chambers, watching the flames dance in the great stone fireplace while the ailing beta paced restlessly behind him.

“The search teams have had no luck?” Thráin asked, shaking fingers worrying at his beaded moustache.

“No, adad,” Thorin sighed, Thráin had asked the same question at least a half dozen times since Thorin had sat down, and Thorin gave him the same answer each time. “They believe he fell in one of the unstable mines, if he reached the river then we’ve no chance of finding him at all.”

“Oh Frerin, my poor little golden one. Lost. Forever lost to me,” Thráin muttered, blinking rapidly to fight the tears welling in his eyes.

Thorin grit his teeth, his hands fisting so tightly that his short, blunt nails dug cruelly into his palm. It wasn’t right, the pain his father was being forced to suffer, and Thorin knew he was to blame for some of it. Thráin didn’t deserve any of it, yet he’d had to watch the beta break like brittle steal as their family fractured around them. His lucid moments becoming less frequent as time went on.

“They’ll keep looking though, surely?” Thráin pleaded.

“Of course, adad,” Thorin lied smoothly, fist tightening further, the brief prick of pain helped keep his welling frustrations in check. He didn’t want to lie to his father, but he didn’t think Thráin would be able to cope with the knowledge that Thror had called off the search the month prior and had already planned the funeral for the following day. The strain of further grief might be the final gem to break the scale, and Thorin couldn’t stand the thought of failing another of his kin so soon after failing Frerin and Fíli.

“What of the child?” Thráin asked suddenly.

“Child?”

“Dís was with child?” Thráin’s brows furrowed slightly as he doubted his own words, his own memories.

“Yes, adad,” Thorin closed his eyes for a moment, the weight of another lie settling upon his shoulders. “She’s not yet had the babe.”

Thráin nodded, clearly distracted,

Turning to his father, Thorin felt despair slowly smother his frustrations as Thráin’s remaining eye glazed over.

“Adad?”

“Thorin?” confusion coloured Thráin’s voice. “Have you been waiting there long?”

“No, adad.”

“Good, good,” Thráin trailed off, watching the flames in the fireplace for a moment before turning back to Thorin, shaking fingers reaching up to worry at his moustache beads. “The search teams have had no luck?”

-x-

“It is a great tragedy that has befallen my line, to lose two precious golden omegas on the same day,” Thror's voice echoed through the burial chamber, his ring clad hand resting on the empty crypt bearing Frerin's name. “Mahal saw fit to deprive us of our gems and return them to the stone. But when our time comes, we shall all meet again in his Halls.”

Thorin remained stoic, a silent shadow beside the King, though anger roiled inside. The people of Erebor had turned out in droves to watch the funeral procession, mourning their lost Prince Frerin and the child they'd never had the chance to meet. The Council clustered in the chamber, heads bowed. Their murmured condolences ringing with falsehood.

It didn't seem to matter to any of them that Frerin hadn't been seen for five years. His absence neither questioned or spoken about. Their sycophantic grieving grated on Thorin’s nerves, but he had to maintain his act.

He was a brother in mourning, an uncle stripped of his role far too soon.

They were not to know that he was truly neither.

He was a traitor, a thief, a deceiver. But for once in his life, he proudly embraced those titles, though they came at a cost.

Thorin could feel his sister’s eyes upon him. Though red rimmed, her Durin blue gaze held steady. She’d barely had any time with her babe before Thorin had whisked him away. A mere moment of time, a gentle kiss to bloodied golden hair, a whisper of his name, was all she had to remember Fíli by. She hadn’t even seen him cleaned. Thorin having left her chambers before the entire birthing process was complete. He knew she resented him for it, everything in her was crying out for a babe that was no longer there.

In the months of her pregnancy Thorin had prayed for a different outcome, but Mahal seemed deaf to his pleas. When the time came, he took the only option they had if they were to have any hope for the future. He _knew_ he’d made the right decision, though that knowledge didn’t lessen the sting of his sister’s gaze, nor ease her husband’s grief.

But he had something to work towards now, something more than the safety and prosperity of his people, something more personal.

As soon as the farce of a funeral was over he’d begin. Balin had left documents in his chambers to look over, reports on the workings of the mountain. It was time for him to take a more active role in the running of Erebor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologise for such a woefully short chapter, the dwarves were being stubborn with me, and I upset myself a little with Thrain, poor thing deserves better.
> 
> I know I said in the previous chapter that this one was meant to have Bilbo's birth in it, but it didn't really feel right so the next chapter will have it. I'm serious this time, the next chapter will be Frerin settling in the Shire, Bilbo's birth, and discovering some of the hobbit's abilities. Then it's multiple time skips per chapter till about chapter 10...I think...at least that's what the chapter plan seems to say.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all those that have left comments and kudos, you make writing this fic worthwhile.
> 
> Just a little warning before you read this chapter, it contains elements of anxiety, the potential for a panic attack, hints at potential past non-con (nothing explicit, only a brief inference), and a non-graphic birth (because, quite frankly, labour terrifies me).

 

“Lookit these widdle feet, I could just eat them up. Yes, I could, num num num,” Belladonna cooed, playfully nibbling on Fíli’s toes, making him giggle and gurgle.

Frerin’s lips quirked up at the sound, even as he gnawed on the lower in nervousness. Bella had allowed him a week to settle in and rest from his journey before finally deciding it was high time to introduce him to the rest of Hobbiton.

“It’ll just be a little trip to the market,” she reassured, pulling faces at Fíli where he lay on the bed. “Nothing to fret about.”

Frerin wasn’t so sure about that. He’d been on his own for so long that crowds greatly unnerved him, especially when he knew everyone would be staring at him, curious about the newest arrivals in the Baggins household.

“We’ll just pop into the tailors, order you something that’ll fit a bit better, and get a few things from the market. We’ll be back before you know it.”

Hands shaking as he rebraided his hair, Frerin hummed in uncertain agreement.

“Fíli will probably enjoy a bit of fresh air and sunshine. Can’t have our little rose petal wilting in the dark now, can we? No, we can’t,” she cooed at Fíli, leaning down to blow raspberries on his soft belly to make him squeal happily.

Although Frerin was fairly sure dwarrow didn't wilt from a lack of sunlight, he was of no mind to contradict Bella. Instead he concentrated on the knot of the sling that crossed his chest, he'd never forgive himself if he left it too loose, allowing Fíli to fall as a result.

“It's fine,” Bella said, chuckling at his fussing.

“Are you sure?” Frerin asked, eyes flitting to Bella's before promptly skittering away again. The sling was something Bella had shown him the morning after he'd arrived, and he still wasn't entirely convinced that a length of fabric would be robust enough to hold his dwarfling.

“Frerin,” she said softly, with Fíli cradled in one arm she placed a warm, comforting hand over Frerin's. “It'll all be fine.”

-x-

It wasn't fine.

Frerin was rather sure it was anything _but_ fine.

The visit to the tailor had been awkward to say the least, and Frerin was fairly certain the old omega never wanted to see him again. Not after he kept jerking away from the measuring tape when it was placed somewhere he couldn’t see.

Hobbiton’s main market was no better. With how tense he felt from the tailor, Frerin was becoming overwhelmed. The small morning crowd bustled about the market square, cheerful greetings flying through the warming air. Everywhere he turned he was confronted by bright colours and a multitude of scents.

Frerin felt like he was drowning, his stomach a hunk of metal hammered into a misshapen lump. Fíli fussed as he was clutched tight against his chest, but Frerin couldn't help it. He felt so _exposed_.

At the towns and inns they'd stopped in on the way to the Shire, he'd been small enough to go unnoticed, or he'd hidden behind the Grey Wizard's robes.

Here, he didn't have that option.

Taller than most by a good few inches, and with his long hair and braided moustache, he stood out like a sore thumb.

He whimpered when a young alpha brushed past him, calling out a _sorry!_ over his shoulder as he chased after a group of giggling children.

“Frerin,” Bella called, looking at him with soft, concerned eyes. “Is this too much? Would you rather go home and try another day?”

Nodding slightly, Frerin felt his cheeks burn with the shame of his cowardice.

“Alright, dove,” Bella smiled reassuringly. Looping her arm through Frerin’s, she carefully steered them though the crowd and back towards the path leading home. “Come on, I’ve got the most important bits, anything else can wait.”

As the sounds of the market faded, Frerin could feel the tension slowly leeching out of his muscles.

“Well, I’d say we’ve earned ourselves a nice cup of tea and a sizeable slice of cake when we get back.”

“You had the last of the cake for supper,” Frerin mumbled.

“I did?” Bella frowned. “Oh, bother it all. We’ll just have to pick something up on the way then. I’m sure the Goodbody’s plum trees were starting to ripen last I saw, they’ll do nicely with a little coaxing.”

“Are we going back to the market?” Frerin asked, breath hitching at the idea of returning.

“The market? No, not at all, dove. We’ll be passing the Goodbody’s orchard just round the bend here. All we’ve got to do is hop over the fence.”

“We’re not buying the plums? But isn’t that stealing?” golden brows furrowed, Frerin looked at Bella walking happily beside him, her ever growing belly making her waddle slightly.

“Stealing? Goodness no,” Bella gasped in mock dismay, her eyes glinting with Tookish mischief. “I’d never steal, dove, I’m not a Sackville. We’re just going scrumping is all.”

“Scrumping?” Frerin questioned.

“Scrumping,” Bella nodded, smile growing when the orchard in question came into view.

Once Bella managed to awkwardly clamber over the small fence, Frerin became aware of two things.

Firstly, scrumping was very much stealing, regardless of what Bella believed.

And secondly, hobbits, like the Grey Wizard that had brought him, were magic.

He watched wide-eyed, his jaw threatening to loosen, as a plum, cupped in Bella’s hands, ripened before him. Its slightly green skin darkening to a deep, almost black, purple. Plucking the now ripe fruit from the branch, Bella bit into it. Sweet, sticky juice rolled down her chin as she groaned in delight.

“They really do grow the best,” she said, polishing off the plum in seconds and licking her juice tacky fingers. “You just have to try one.”

Cupping another fruit, her fingers lightly stroked its darkening skin as she coaxed it to ripen.

“Here, try it.”

Frerin barely managed to catch the plum as Bella threw it to him. Gently squeezing it, he tried to remember the last time he’d eaten a plum. It was over a decade, he was sure.

“It’s not poisoned, promise,” Bella teased as she set about coaxing a dozen more plums to ripen, hiding them in her basket once she’d plucked them from the tree’s lowest branches.

Biting into the dark flesh, Frerin barely held back a groan at the sweet taste the burst across his tongue. After years of rather tasteless rations, the small, simple fruit felt absolutely decadent.

“Good, isn’t it?” Bella grinned, huffing as she hoisted herself back over the fence.

“Yes,” Frerin agreed, wiping the juice from his beard with a shirt sleeve. “But it’s still stealing.”

“Oh pish,” Bella dismissed easily. “It’s not stealing, it’s scrumping. Besides, they owe me anyway after those Goodbody lads made off with some of my tomatoes last month. Right under my nose they were too! Clever little sprouts, the lot of ‘em.”

Bella’s approving tone over something such as stealing gave Frerin the sinking feeling that it’d be a long time before he truly understood the creatures that lived in the quaint little corner of Middle Earth he’d found himself in.

-x-

It was nearly two weeks later that Frerin awoke to the sound of Fíli’s cries and a steadily growing ache in his belly. Pushing himself from the bed, he groggily stumbled to the cot.

“I’m here, Fíli,” he murmured, stroking Fíli’s messy golden hair. “Please don’t cry, please go back to sleep.”

When the cries didn’t lessen, Frerin finally relented and scooped the dwarfling into his arms, bouncing him slightly as he returned to bed.

“Hush, you’re alright,” he soothed, laying back down and curling around Fíli, both to comfort him and attempt to stave off the steadily increasing cramps.

As the first rays of the sun slipped through the window, Fíli’s cries finally tapered off into sniffling whimpers. Frerin honestly couldn’t blame him.

Tired, in increasing pain, and fearing Bungo’s reaction to his heat, Frerin felt like crying himself.

“Frerin? You awake, dove?” Bella’s voice came after a gentle knock on his door.

“Yes,” he mumbled somewhat grudgingly, wanting her to both go away and come in at the same time.

His entire body tensed as he watched the door open, teeth gritted against the band of discomfort tightening around his belly.

“Oh, dove, you are in a state, aren’t you,” she sighed, quickly moving to place a tea cup on his bedside table before resting the back of her hand against his flushed cheeks. “Bungo thought you’d gone into heat this morning, could smell you from the kitchen apparently.”

“No,” Frerin whined, dread sinking like a hot stone. “I don’t want to, _please_.”

“Dove?” Bella’s hand froze where she’d been calmly stroking his hair, eyes widening in alarm at his reaction. “No one’s going to make you do anything you don’t want to, dove, I promise.”

Fíli’s cries picked up again as Frerin continued to whine in distress, tears beading on his lashes.

“Frerin, listen to me. I don’t know what you’ve gone through, but judging from the way you’re acting I can _promise_ you that it won’t happen here. You’re safe here.”

Trembling slightly before Bella’s determined gaze, Frerin tried to believe in her words.

“The only ones who’d try to poke their noses in are just gossips scenting about an unfamiliar omega, but they won’t get past the gate, dove. Bungo’s sitting out on the bench now, keeping them all at bay till you feel ready to face the world. We’ll keep you safe, Frerin, you and Fíli both.”

Choosing to have faith in her, Frerin slowly uncurled to sit up against the headboard, shifting Fíli to rest against his chest as he did so.

“How about I take Fíli out to spend a bit of time with Bungo?” Bella suggested, gently resting her hand against the grizzling babe’s back. “Give us a chance to get you settled without having to worry about him as well, aye?”

Reluctantly, Frerin nodded, letting Belladonna lift Fíli into her arms.

“I won’t be long, try drinking some of that if you can,” she said, nodding to the tea cup beside him. “It’s raspberry leaf tea, should help with the cramps, and if it doesn’t then I’ve other things we can try.”

Although all he wanted to do was hide under the covers for the rest of the day, Frerin reached out for the cup instead. He sipped obediently at the tea, even as he doubted Bella’s words that it’d do any good. After all, his own mother had told him when his first heat hit that only an alpha’s knot could stop the pain. Dwarrow had no faith in teas and tinctures when it came to the subject of an omega’s heat.

“Right then,” Bella said, announcing her presence just before pushing open the door. “Fíli’s all settled outside with Bungo and his morning milk. How’s that tea working for you?”

“It’s…” Frerin started to lie, though Bella’s raised eyebrow quickly put a stop to it. “It’s not doing anything.”

“I thought you might need something stronger,” she admitted. “You’re still far too skinny, it’s no surprise your body is protesting going into heat so vehemently. I’ll fetch you something else that should help ease it. Do you feel up to joining me in the kitchen or would you rather stay here?”

Frerin balked at the suggestion of leaving the, admittedly false, safety of his bedroom. He’d have to pass through the front hall to reach the kitchen and regardless of Bella’s assurances, he still didn’t completely trust the notion that he’d be safe from Bungo or any other alpha.

“I’ll…” he started before truly looking at Bella. Guilt made itself known as he watched her, one hand supporting her large belly, while the other discreetly kneaded her lower back. “I’ll come to the kitchen.”

“Alright,” Bella smiled softly. “Come on then, dove, the quicker we get the tea in you, the more comfortable you’ll be.”

Easing from the bed, Frerin accepted the patchwork dressing gown she’d made him, before wrapping an arm tight around his middle and following her to the kitchen.

“Take a seat while I get everything sorted,” Bella said, shooing him to a chair at the kitchen table before bustling about readying the kettle and gathering various things Frerin couldn’t even guess the names of. “Now this’ll all be a bit of trial and error before we get it right, I’m afraid. You dwarrow are built a little bit differently to us hobbits. You’re built a bit more solid.”

Frerin merely nodded at the appropriate moments to keep her talking, eyes tracing the marks and scratches on the wooden table.

“And seeing as this whole business affects the muscles and such, it stands to reason that a stiff, solid muscle would take a bit more work than a suppler one. A bit like working with hardened, dry earth instead of suitably watered soil.”

Hunched over in the chair, Frerin tried not to whimper as his insides felt like they were tearing themselves to shreds.

“Drink this, dove,” Bella said, placing a steaming cup before him, the scent of ginger making his nose twitch. “It’s cramp bark and ginger, a few cups of that and you’ll be right as rain.”

With trembling fingers Frerin lifted the cup to his lips, his nose wrinkled a little at the taste, but he dutifully drank it down.

“We’ll give that a bit of time to work its magic,” Bella said, settling down beside him with a normal cup of tea. “Then we’ll see about getting you another one.”

Frerin nodded, wrapping his arms around his middle as he listened to Bella chatter away about people he hadn’t met. He soon found himself drifting, calm and relaxed in the warm kitchen.

“Dove? How are you feeling?” Frerin blinked as reality made itself known to him at her question.

“I feel fine,” he said with a tone of disbelief. It was a truly strange sensation, he knew he was still in heat, the flush burning his cheeks attested to that, but all he could feel was a barely noticeable ache in his belly.

“No pains?”

“None at all,” Frerin practically whispered, looking at Bella with grateful, tear filled eyes. “Thank you.”

“You’re quite welcome,” Bella smiled. “We’ll give it a few more minutes then get you another cup, alright? After that we should be able to space them out a bit more till your heat finishes.”

Nodding, Frerin settled back in his seat, hand absently rubbing circles on his belly as he marvelled at the minimal discomfort.

“Did I miss a fresh pot?”

Frerin couldn’t help but tense at Bungo’s voice, eyes shooting up to the alpha as he entered the kitchen.

“I can make another, love,” Bella offered.

“Not to worry,” Bungo assured, intent on keeping Bella off her feet as much as he could. “I’ll set the kettle to boil once I’ve changed my waistcoat. Fíli seems to have taken exception to this one.”

Frerin and Bella couldn’t help but look at the waistcoat in question. A faded blue affair with the new addition of milky spit up. Fíli didn’t seem the least perturbed, gurgling happily in Bungo’s arms.

“Well I have been telling you to throw that one away,” Bella pointed out, failing to hide her smile. “It would seem young Fíli agrees with me.”

“You are a menace to respectable clothing, Belladonna Baggins,” Bungo huffed, shaking his head fondly.

“It’s why you married me, I’m sure.”

“I married you for many reasons that don’t include your meddling in my wardrobe.”

They had such ease with each other, such love, that Frerin could see it shining brightly between them. He felt guilty for the way his muscles refused to relax in Bungo’s presence. His heart pounded in his chest like a blacksmith pounded stubborn metal. His already flushed cheeks burned with embarrassment.

“Frerin? Are you alright?” Bungo asked, Frerin’s rising distress making his nose twitch.

“I’m fine,” he murmured, not raising his head from its submissive tilt.

“I think having an alpha around is a bit much at the moment, love,” Bella explained.

“Ah, I see. Frerin, you have my word as a respectable Baggins that no harm will come to you here. You have nothing to fear from me, and I’ll do my utmost to protect you from others should the need arise. I’ll leave you both in peace, should you have need of me I’ll be in the study.”

“What about Fíli?” Frerin managed to ask, eyes briefly flicking up to Bungo.

“I don’t mind keeping him with me for the day. Besides, I’m sure we could both enjoy a midmorning nap.”

“In the study, love?” Bella smirked.

“I’ll have you know those stacks of accounts make a wonderful pillow,” Bungo teased, leaning down to press a kiss to Bella’s plump cheek before heading off to change his soiled waistcoat.

Another cup of tea and thick slice of cake later and Frerin thought that maybe, just maybe, he could be safe and content in the quite green hills of the Shire.

-x-

It was some months after their arrival at Bag End that Frerin finally encountered more than just a hint of the power hobbits wielded over the earth and all things that grew within it. It was an encounter he found to be both terrifying and comforting in equal measures.

The day began as any other in the Shire, the late September sun shone through the kitchen window as they finished second breakfast. It was a warm, calming atmosphere filled with bird song and the clink of cups returning to their saucers.

Frerin was still working his way through the remaining scones on his plate, Fíli fast asleep in his carry basket beside him, when Bungo bid them goodbye, intent on getting to the market before most of the crowds. He felt proud of himself when he didn’t flinch away from the companionable squeeze Bungo gave his shoulder after pressing a kiss to Bella’s cheek.

It had taken time, and a lot of patience on the alpha’s part, for Frerin to accept the casual touches that seemed common and natural to hobbits. There were still days where he shied away from the soft, careful touches, but he was slowly growing more accustom to the parting squeezes to his shoulder and a guiding hand on his back when he truly needed it.

Smiling down at his teacup, Frerin almost missed Bella’s huff as she tried to adjust her bloated body.

“Perhaps we could do a bit of scrumping today,” she said with a wince, pressing a hand hard to her side at a particularly strong kick.

“Scrumping?” he asked, eyebrow quirked.

“Yes, dove, scrumping. I saw some lovely looking apples the other day on my way back from the market. They’d make a lovely pie or maybe even a crumble, and it won’t take long to hop over the fence and empty a few branches into my apron.”

“I don’t think hopping over fences is a good idea for you right now.”

 “If it convinces this little one to get a move on, then I’ll happily hop over as many fences as it takes,” Bella grimaced, both hands now pressing either side of her bump. With the baby almost two weeks overdue, even Bella’s seemingly eternal optimism was being strained.

“Bella?” concern steadily growing, Frerin hesitantly reached out to touch her shoulder.

“I think…” she paused for a moment, hissing out a breath through gritted teeth. “I think I might be able to leave fence hopping for another day.”

“What?” Frerin’s eyes widened, the beginnings of panic fluttering in his chest.

“Be a dear and run next door for me? Yellow door, ask for Bell.”

Frerin was on his feet before she’d even finished speaking, his own anxieties forgotten in the face of Belladonna’s need.

“Oh, dove, perhaps you could also send their eldest, Hamson, to fetch Bungo? He should be able to catch him before he reaches the market.”

Nodding, Frerin bolted.

“Frerin, lad, how are ya?” Hamfast greeted him, an easy smile on his face and a faunt perched on his hip.

“I…I’ve been sent to get Bell?” Frerin stumbled, he’d only met the alpha a few times. He’d found Hamfast to be a good-natured alpha, with laughter lines deeply etched into his skin. “And to ask if Hamson? could run down to the market to find Bungo?”

“Ah, Missus Bella’s time I’m guessing? Not to worry, lad, we’ve been waiting for the call for a while now,” Halfred assured before leaning back and calling into the smial. “Bell! It’s Belladonna’s time!”

“Well that little one’s certainly taken their time!” was shouted back. “You mark my words that babe’ll take after its mother once it’s grown.”

Halfred chuckled, rolling his eyes good-naturedly at his wife’s antics.

Not five minutes later, Frerin was carrying a leather case of supplies and trying to keep up with Bell’s quick steps as they headed back to Bag End.

“How are we doing, Bella?” Bell asked as she bustled into the kitchen, hands already reaching out to feel her bump.

“I’m fine, just looking forward to finally having my baby in my arms, not my belly,” Bella huffed a laugh before wincing as a stronger contraction hit.

“Of course, you are, dear,” Bell said. “Frerin, help me get her up.”

Between the two of them they managed to lever Bella onto her feet. With Bell aiding her, they slowly waddled to the bedroom, Frerin closely following carrying both a sleeping Fíli in his basket and Bell’s case.

“Right, here we go,” Bell muttered, settling Bella comfortably on the bed, pillows suitably plumped behind her. “Put the babe down, Frerin, and you can come assist me.”

“But…” Frerin hesitated, fingers tightening on the handles of Fíli’s carry basket, he stared wide eyed at the hobbit omegas.

“Come now, dove,” Bella coaxed, smiling softly though it quickly morphed into a grimace when a contraction rippled across her belly. “This’ll likely be no different to when Fíli was born.”

“I-I wasn’t present at his birth,” Frerin confessed causing Bell to turn and gawk at him while Bella smiled sympathetically.

“Not present?” Bell frowned. She, like the rest of the Shire, had assumed that young Fíli was Frerin’s. There had been a fair few raised eyebrows at his young age and lack of alpha, but with the current revelation Bell wasn’t quite sure whether to be worried or relieved.

“I wasn’t permitted to attend,” Frerin muttered, not particularly willing to admit the fact that he’d been locked in a cell by the treasury and denied anything but a meagre ration of stale bread and water for not submitting and welcoming his grandfather into his bed during his heat.

“Well no matter,” Bell clucked. “You can still be of help to me now.”

Reluctantly Frerin set Fíli’s basket down on the floor and stepped closer to the bed. Embarrassment soon flooded his cheeks with heat as Bell guided him and he realised that by the time the baby arrived he’d see more of Bella than he ever really wanted to.

Barely fifteen minutes later, Bungo appeared in the doorway, looking more agitated than Frerin had ever seen him. It was an unnerving thing to witness, Frerin could feel the waves of agitation and the alpha’s desperate need to protect his pained mate rolling off Bungo. Yet the only outward signs of his emotional state were his slightly rumbled clothing, and faintly reddened cheeks from the exertion of a quick march back up the hill to Bag End.

Frerin didn’t quite know how to process it all. His trust in Bungo was still in its infancy, it wasn’t quite strong enough to truly believe that the hobbit alpha wouldn’t do anything untoward.

He’d heard stories of the havoc an alpha could cause when their mate went into labour. Entire rooms destroyed or platoons of guardsmen left bloodied and bruised in the dust of the training grounds. Yet Bungo just stood there, bright hazel eyes tracking Belladonna’s every breath and wince. His lip twitched upwards for barely a moment when Bella gasped at another contraction. It was the closest thing to an alpha snarl that Frerin had ever seen come from a hobbit.

Apparently, what was a slight twitch to Frerin was considered a full snarl to hobbits.

Bell spun round, wagging a scolding finger at the alpha, “Bungo Baggins, out of this room immediately if that’s the way you’re going to behave. Go and do something productive with all that ridiculousness.”

“A playroom for the young ones would be nice, my love,” Belladonna gasped.

With a curt nod Bungo jerkily straightened his waistcoat before turning and disappearing down the hall. Moments later slight creaks and groans made themselves known, steadily growing louder and, to Frerin’s ear, more worrisome.

Bella merely rolled her eyes.

“And he calls me the fuss pot,” she huffed fondly. “Silly old hobbit.”

Frerin just stood there, staring at the empty doorway, utterly confused.

“You alright there, dove?” Bella asked, shifting about in a futile attempt to find a more comfortable spot.

“Isn’t he going to break something or…or brawl with another alpha?” Frerin asked somewhat hesitantly.

“Oh goodness no!” Bell exclaimed, rather scandalised at such a notion. “How terribly rude and uncouth! Oh no. No, no, no. We tend to be more civilised and proper than those folk who go about smacking each other with swords at the slightest disagreement.”

Bella snickered at Frerin’s expression before another, stronger contraction gripped her middle.

“Oh Yavanna, that’s not pleasant,” she groaned.

“Frerin? Come, it’s time to leave the alphas to their business while we tend to ours.”

Two hours, a surprising amount of cursing from the labouring hobbit, and increasingly louder bangs from the corridor later and Frerin was charged with cleaning up the newest Baggins.

He was a tiny little thing, much smaller than Fíli had been when he’d first held him. He had wispy, damp curls adoring his head, sweetly pointed ears, and a smattering of fluff on his adorably large feet.

Wiping her hands on a clean cloth, Bell leaned out the doorway to call, “You can come in now, Master Baggins!”

Frerin was so entranced by the tiny hobbit babe that he didn’t even realise Bungo had returned until a gentle hand settled on his lower back.

“Frerin?” a hint of uncertainty threaded itself through Bungo’s voice.

“You have a little omega,” Frerin beamed, carefully lifting the babe and handing him over into his father’s careful hands.

“An omega, Yavanna be praised,” Bungo breathed, staring in awe at the tiny babe in his arms. “And Belladonna?”

“Perfectly fine, Bungo dear, at least I will be once I catch my breath,” Bella called from the bed, grimacing at the concoction Bell was helping her drink.

“Have you settled on a name?” Bungo asked, cautiously approaching the bed.

“I quite liked the name Bilbo,” Belladonna answered, an indulgent smile curling her lips as she watched her husband and child bonding.

Pressing a gentle kiss to Bilbo’s brow, Bungo headed for the cot they’d set up near the foot of the bed, carefully lowering his son to the soft sheets before turning to a stirring Fíli.

“Hello Fíli,” he cooed lifting the drowsy dwarfling. “Are you ready to meet your new little cousin? This is Bilbo.”

Frerin couldn’t prevent the startled gasp that left his lips, shocked, wide eyes staring at Bungo as he lay Fíli in the cot beside Bilbo. The sleepy golden omega proceeded to happily blow spit bubbles at his new companion, his new _cousin_.

Smiling, Bungo turned to Frerin. It was the first time that Frerin had held his gaze for more than a brief moment.

“As of this moment, if you are willing to accept, both Fíli and yourself shall be known as Baggins omegas of Bag End, for as long as you desire.”

“Thank you,” Frerin croaked, completely overcome with the ease with which Bungo had claimed them as his own, as kin.

This was what a family was supposed to be, he couldn’t help but think as he excused himself to go and change and gather a suitable afternoon tea for them all. Caring and close knit, not the fractured thing he’d once known as family back in Erebor.

Frerin’s musings and feet came to an abrupt halt as he turned the corner.

The corridor his bedroom was on seemed longer, with at least four extra doors that he could see. He blinked a few times, rubbing his eyes in an attempt to make the sudden appearance of the flawless new corridor and rooms disappear again.

It didn’t work.

The view before him remained the same.

In something of a daze, he turned on his heel and walked back to Bag End’s master bedroom.

“There are four new rooms,” he blurted, causing the three hobbits within to turn to him.

“Only four?” Bella asked from her nest of pillows on the newly cleaned bed, a sleeping babe cradled in each arm.

“That was very controlled of you, Master Baggins,” Bell added.

“Of course it was,” Bungo puffed up indignantly. “I’m not some blockheaded Bracegirdle from Hardbottle, capable of naught but inappropriately placed and shaped smials.”

“You did all that?” Frerin questioned, voice faint at the implications of such a thing.

“Of course, I did,” Bungo huffed. “It would be highly improper to assuage one’s alpha instincts in any other fashion at such a time.”

“How is such a thing possible?” Frerin asked, trying desperately to understand before any growing fear could choke the words from him.

“A simple shifting of the earth and coaxing of wood growth. A negligible use of power to be quite fair.”

“A simple…” Frerin stuttered. “Do hobbit alphas have greater magic than omegas?”

In his months of living in the Shire, trying to adapt to the strangely laid back alphas, he’d never seen such a blatant display of power on such a large scale. Bella’s ripening of fruit seemed like mere party tricks in comparison and Bungo had called it ‘negligible’!

“Magic? Goodness no,” Bungo chuckled. “I merely utilised my connection to the earth as all our kind may do. My requests were heeded without any trouble. And there is no greater power wielded by either alphas or omegas, we merely have strengths in different areas. As is true of all alphas, I can create and defend, omegas have the capacity to grow and nurture.”

Frerin could only nod in vague understanding. If Bungo could shift the earth and create new space within it without a thought, then perhaps there truly was something to Gandalf’s conviction that the Shire was the safest place in all of Middle Earth.

It would take a group far madder than any he knew of to even _think_ of going against a race that cultivated such a deep connection to the earth that they could command and control the very nature of it.

When Frerin retired to bed that night, he slept safe in the knowledge that regardless of what happened, he and Fíli would be protected. He slept, comforted in the fact that he had a family he could rely upon and grow with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've kinda proofread this, but, as always, there's the potential for things to slip through the cracks, so apologies for any mistakes you may encounter.
> 
> Right, notes on this chapter - I can't remember if I mentioned it in the first attempt at writing this fic, but heats are like severe periods, only without the blood. Using raspberry leaf tea can be used to combat cramps, cramp bark is an actual thing that has a stronger effect than raspberry leaf or chamomile.
> 
> So we've finally gotten past Bilbo's birth, now we're on to the time skips with chapters filled with drabbles, ficlets, and anything else to get through the passage of years in a more timely manner than previously.  
> If there is anything in particular you wish to see or have explained either in the Shire or in Erebor, now is the time to tell me. Either leave a comment or send me a message over [on tumblr](http://sarcasticsmilerrandomness.tumblr.com/) if you'd rather be anonymous.
> 
> Oh! before I forget, it's at some point during this chapter that [Not Quite a Lullaby](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5900179) takes place.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ten years, more or less, in the Shire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it's been a while, but I promise I've not abandoned this fic! Thank you to anyone still reading this, the comments and kudos really do help, thank you so much for leaving them.
> 
> This chapter covers the first ten years in the Shire in short ficlets, I've probably missed a few things I should've added, but if that's the case I can always add them in later chapters.
> 
> WARNINGS for this chapter;  
> \- Frerin suffers from anxiety, there is also a PTSD-esque scene.  
> \- child bullying  
> \- blood (only a tiny bit)  
> \- a few, non-specific references to past abuse

“Ama!” Fíli babbled. “Mama!”

Frerin froze at what sounded like actual words directed at him, instead of the usual random assortment of sounds that came from Fíli’s lips. He was quickly brought back, however, when a small handful of mashed carrots hit his face.

“Fíli,” he scolded, trying desperately to ignore Bella’s laughter as he wiped the mess from his face. “We don’t _throw_ food, we _eat_ it.”

“Mama,” Fíli agreed…possibly. Frerin wasn’t entirely sure, all he knew was a mashed carrot covered hand was patting at his beard, smearing the orange mush everywhere Fíli’s little pudgy arms could reach.

“I really don’t understand why you won’t let me take him to tea with the Baggins side of the family, dove,” Bella teased, bouncing a drowsy Bilbo in her arms. “He has such _impeccable_ table manners.”

The glare Frerin sent her way was utterly ruined when another glob of carrot hit his cheek only to slide down and join the rest of the mess encrusted in his short beard.

-x-

It was once they’d put Bilbo and Fíli down for a nap that Fíli’s almost words came back to him.

He hadn’t really thought about the consequences of raising Fíli himself, too caught up in the panic of suddenly having a babe relying on him, and the uncertainty of a new home so different from everything he’d ever known.

But they’d been in the Shire for little over half a year now and still there were only a few who knew that though Fíli was of his blood, he wasn’t his child. It was an assumption neither Bungo nor Belladonna had sought to rectify, and he had merely followed their lead on the matter. Unsure on how to navigate the uneven ground of the fractured mine shaft he’d manged to find himself in.

Frerin _still_ didn’t know how to navigate it, and Fíli was quickly approaching an age where he’d begin to associate names with individuals. If he had Fíli call him ‘Uncle’ all those he’d encountered would know he’d been lying to them since his arrival. They’d question his trustworthiness, and he was sure that the warmth he’d been generally greeted with would disappear. But if he had Fíli call him ‘Mother’ or even ‘Father’, then surely that would be an insult and betrayal to his sister and her husband.

Just the thought of it had guilt bubbling in his stomach. He hated the rising fear that accompanied it, but a dwarven alpha was not someone he wished to upset, regardless of their familial connections.

“You alright there, dove?” Bella asked, looking up from sewing a button back onto one of Fíli’s tiny waistcoats. “You’ve gone a bit pale.”

“What should he call me?”

“Who, dove?”

“Fíli. I don’t know what he should call me,” Frerin admitted as he slumped down in his armchair, watching the ripples in his tea as his finger tapped restlessly on the edge of the cup.

“Why don’t you let Fíli decide for himself?” Bungo suggested, dusting cake crumbs from his waistcoat.

“I don’t understand,” Frerin frowned looking up at Bungo, though he kept his head tilted deferentially.

“Fauntlings understand quite a bit more than we truly give them credit for,” Bungo explained, settling back against the cushions of his chair, teacup and saucer resting on his rounded belly. “Explain things to him, tell him about Erebor, about his birth parents. Dwarrow have their own language, if I’m not mistaken?”

Frerin nodded somewhat reluctantly at that, Khuzdul was _supposed_ to be a secret after all.

“So, teach him that. Give him strong roots from which to grow his own opinions. He’ll make the right choice from himself, I have no doubt.”

-x-X-x-

Frerin focused on the little chubby hands gripping his fingers, focused on the shuffling steps he had to take, and the slight ache building in his lower back from being bent over for so long.

If he could just keep his focus on Fíli, and the short, wobbling steps he took in his new little boots, then he could block out the sounds of the market around them.

It was wrong to use Fíli as a shield, he knew that, but, so far, he hadn’t found a better one.

He almost stumbled when Fíli came to a stop, letting go of his fingers to drop to the floor with a frown and a pout firmly in place.

Frerin couldn’t help but sigh at the expression.

A few of the stallholders closest to them offered him sympathetic smiles.

They all knew what was coming next.

“No!” Fíli shrieked, glaring down at his feet.

“Fíli,” Frerin tried, reaching for his dwarfling before the inevitable happened.

“No no no no!”

Grabbing his own feet, Fíli clumsily yanked off the soft booties Frerin had struggled to get him into in the first place, and proceeded to throw them as far as his little arms could go.

“I’d say he’s made his opinion about those things rather clear, dove,” Bella said, barely keeping Bilbo balanced on her hip as he clapped and babbled at Fíli.

“He’s a dwarf,” Frerin practically whined, his shoulders starting to hunch up as his skin started to prickle at the growing attention they were garnering with Fíli’s little tantrum. “Dwarrow wear boots.”

“Do you like boots, petal?” Bella asked, crouching down beside Fíli.

“No!” Fíli grinned as he pushed himself back up and toddled off without aid, his steps much surer now he was bare foot.

Picking up the discarded boots, Frerin resigned himself to the fact that he was raising the only dwarrow that didn’t like shoes.

-x-X-x-

The late summer sunlight washed over his skin with a soothing warmth as Frerin’s eyes fluttered open. With his latest heat finally abating, he had easily succumbed to the comfort of a soft armchair and drifted into a light doze.

It was still a marvel that he could even do such a thing, though he didn’t indulge often.

But now he’d awoken he could feel the slight tightening in his chest.

Logically he knew he was safe, knew Fíli was safe.

But he couldn’t see his dwarfling, couldn’t hear him.

He tried to ignore the niggling doubt seeping in, telling him that something was wrong. But it wasn’t long before he gave in, heaving himself from the armchair to search for his little one.

Following the sound of displeased grumbles, Frerin soon found Bella kneeling by her herb garden, scolding the mint.

“Bella?” he called from the backdoor. “Do you know where Fíli is?”

“Bathroom, dove, the boys got a bit mucky so Bungo’s giving them a bath before naptime.”

Nodding, Frerin left her to her stubborn mint and made his way to the bathroom, and the happy giggles and splashes that emanated from within.

Peeking through the open door, he felt the tightness in his chest ease and a soft smile curve his lips.

Bungo was kneeling beside the bathtub, shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, though with how wet his shirt had become it was a fairly pointless concession.

Fíli and Bilbo were happily splashing about in the soapy water, cheeks rosy from the warmth, as Bungo tried to give the three-year olds a good scrub.

“Look at the dirt behind these,” Bungo teased, scrubbing behind Fíli’s ears with a sudsy washcloth. “You’ll have potatoes growing back there soon if we don’t clean them.”

“Nooo!” Fíli giggled, managing to splash more water over Bungo’s sodden shirt front. “I got mushrooms, not taters!”

“Is that so? Hmmm, I best have a taste to check then,” Bungo said before leaning down and pretending to nibble on Fíli’s rounded ear, causing the dwarfling to giggle harder. “Nope, I definitely taste potatoes.”

Leaning against the door, safe from any stray splashes of water, Frerin watched Bungo wash and play with the boys. The calm from before returned to him, and he knew, with certainty, that it was going to be one of the good days.

-x-

“Story, adad?” Fíli asked later that night, looking up at Frerin pleadingly with his big blue eyes.

“Erebor!” Bilbo added, mused curls and grinning face finally appearing through the neck of the nightshirt Frerin was trying to dress him in.

“Again? I’ve been telling you those ones all week, don’t you want a different story?”

“Nope,” Bilbo said, shaking his head vigorously as Frerin tucked him into bed.

“Alright,” Frerin smiled, settling down between the two small beds, close enough to Fíli for the dwarfling to hold one of his braids. “What do you want to hear about tonight?”

“Thowin,” Bilbo answered around the thumb firmly planted in his mouth.

“You want to hear about Thorin too?” Frerin asked, carefully looking at Fíli so he didn’t dislodge the chubby little fingers wrapped around his braid.

“Uh huh,” Fíli agreed sleepily through a yawn.

“Alright then. Once upon a time, not so long ago, there was a dwarrow prince, dark of hair and light of eye. He was an alpha of his line, strong and fierce, and what he wanted, more than anything, was to learn to play the harp. But his grandfather refused his request, for a harp is an elvish thing, he said, and not fit for dwarrow royalty. But the Prince would not be swayed,” Frerin spoke softly, weaving an adventurous tale from a childish endeavour, as Fíli and Bilbo drifted off to sleep.

Carefully easing Fíli’s fingers from his braid, Frerin slowly rose to his feet.

“Goodnight, little ones,” he murmured, tucking the boys in and pressing soft kisses to their foreheads.

“Are you alright?” Bella whispered once he’d closed the door.

Frerin smiled, she asked the same after every tale he told of Erebor, genuine concern glittering in her eyes.

“I’m fine,” he answered, as he always did, though for once he was speaking the truth.

-x-X-x-

“Frerin,” Bella said, pinching the bridge of her nose, voice struggling to be polite. “As much as I love you, you need to get out of my kitchen.”

“Maybe I just need to try one more time?” Frerin said prodding at the flat, rubbery thing that was _meant_ to be a Victoria Sponge.

Fíli and Bilbo sat at one end of the kitchen table, chubby little fingers swiping through the remaining cake mixture in the bowl as they giggled at yet another of Frerin’s failed attempts at baking.

“That’s what you said five attempts ago. There’s only so much flour in the pantry, Frerin, and at this rate there won’t be enough for cakes for afternoon tea.”

“But…”

“No, just no, go sit with the boys.”

“Fine,” Frerin huffed, letting Bella shoo him away.

He just couldn’t understand what had gone wrong. He’d followed the instructions to the letter.

“Want some, adad?” Fíli asked, offering up a mixture covered finger.

“Thank you,” he smiled, swiping the mixture onto his own finger before plopping it in his mouth.

Watching Bella easily whip up another cake in next to no time, Frerin planned his next foray into baking.

-x-

Bungo knocked the scone on the kitchen table, trying not to smile as it made the same sound as the stone paperweight Fíli had gifted him with.

“Perhaps we can try something else?” he suggested as Frerin winced at the sound.

“I don’t know what else to try,” Frerin sighed, not quite managing to meet Bungo’s eyes. “My cakes never rise, my biscuits can break teeth, and my scones wouldn’t look out of place in a cobble stone road.”

Carefully placing the solid scone on its plate, Bungo tried to find a solution to their dilemma. The long series of failures were clearly having a detrimental effect on Frerin. Bungo could see it in the hunched shoulders, and eyes that never quite settled on anything.

Frerin was doubting himself again, and that was not something Bungo would even remotely tolerate if there was something he could do about it.

“Perhaps we should step away from baking, for the time being.”

“And do what?”

“You could always try making jam, or chutney. You could even make an attempt into pickling.”

Frerin looked uncertain at the suggestions, gnawing on his lower lip.

“Baking isn’t the be all and end all, Frerin. You’ll find your footing soon enough, I have no doubt.”

-x-

Nervously gnawing on a thumbnail, Frerin looked on as the rest of the Baggins family tried his raspberry jam on Bella’s warm scones. He’d had a few hiccups with the process to begin with, but he was sure that this batch was the best he’d ever made.

“Oh my goodness,” Bella groaned.

“This is really good, Uncle Frerin!” Bilbo grinned at him, while Fíli was more intent on licking the excess jam from his fingers.

“I think you’ve done a marvellous job there, Frerin,” Bungo praised, smile growing as Frerin finally met his eyes, a pleased flush peaking out from under his short beard.

-x-X-x-

Fíli pouted, little arms crossed over his chest as he sat slumped in the shade of Bag End’s great oak tree.

He hated being a dwarf. They couldn’t _do_ anything other than grow hair in all the _wrong_ places.

Wriggling against the trunk, Fíli tried huffing like he’d seen Missus Sackville do when she didn’t get what she wanted at the market.

It just wasn’t _fair_!

His cousin Bilbo got to learn all sorts of things about feeling the earth and all things that grow, while he was stuck with all the stupid rocks that kept poking his feet when he walked.

Pout starting to quiver, Fíli sniffled and scrubbed at his watering eyes with his balled up, dirty fists.

He just wanted to be like the other faunts.

Blinking away the starbursts, he looked at the little mushrooms growing around the roots of the tree.

He just wanted to do what everyone else could do.

With his lip starting to tremble again, Fíli wiped his running nose on his sleeve before reaching out damp fingers to stroke the closest mushroom’s closed cap.

He just wanted to help things grow.

The mushroom twitched.

Its cap unfurling slightly in a halting movement.

Fíli gaped, eyes wide, before it truly caught up to him what had happened. Quickly scrambling to his feet, he bolted to the back of Bag End where Bella and Bilbo were tending to Bella’s small herb garden.

“Auntie Bella!” he shrieked, thudding into her side when his legs didn’t quite stop in time. Effectively sending them both sprawling in the earth.

Bilbo’s hands flew to his face, hiding his lips as he giggled, smearing dirt all over his cheeks in the process.

“Fíli, petal, whatever’s the matter?” Bella asked, holding the beaming dwarfling against her as she righted them.

“I did it!”

“Did what?”

“The mushroom opened!” Fíli exclaimed, little hands flapping in the direction of the oak tree. “It was only a little bit, but it opened!”

“I told you it’d happen when the time was right, flowers don’t all bloom at the same time, after all,” Bella grinned, nuzzling Fíli’s fuzzy cheek as he squealed in delight. “Descendant of dwarrow you might be, but you’re still of the Green Lady’s earth.”

-x-X-x-

Fíli buried his face in Frerin’s neck, sniffling pitifully as he clutched at golden braids. Standing by Belladonna, his little hand fisted in her skirt, Bilbo gnawed on his lower lip as he watched his cousin with large watery eyes.

“Hush now, petal,” Bella cooed, carefully cleaning the small cut on the tender arch of Fíli’s foot, “it’ll all be fixed soon.”

“It was a mean old rock, mama,” Bilbo whimpered, twitching in sympathy every time Fíli flinched.

“A mean old rock was it?” Bella mused, smearing a dab of healing salve over the cut.

Bilbo nodded, “Uh huh, it hid in the grass and jumped out to hurt Fíli.”

“You know,” Frerin started, rocking his dwarfling slightly, “if you wore boots then mean old rocks wouldn’t be able to hurt you.”

“Don’t like boots, they squish my toes,” Fíli grumbled, face still smushed against Frerin’s throat.

“Boots are icky,” Bilbo agreed, nose wrinkling in distaste.

“Well little bunnies like you don’t need boots,” Frerin teased, playfully tapping Bilbo’s twitching nose. “But little dwarflings do, our feet aren’t as big and tough as yours.”

“Don’t care. Don’t like boots,” Fíli mumbled, tone beginning to slide towards sulky and petulant.

Wrapping a soft white bandage around Fíli’s little foot, Bella glanced up at Frerin, “If I was you, I’d give up while I was still in his good books.”

“Fine,” Frerin sighed in defeat. “No boots, but keep a sharper eye out for rocks next time, alright?”

“Yes, Uncle Frerin,” Bilbo chirped as Fíli nodded.

“Maybe we could see if you could feel them out?” Belladonna suggested as she rose from her crouched position in front of the dwarfling with a groan.

“Really?” Fíli asked, peeking out from a curtain of wavy blond hair.

“I don’t see why not,” Bella shrugged. “Maybe you could end up finding the easiest soil to walk on, might keep you away from those nasty rocks and icky boots.”

Fíli brightened instantly at the notion. While Frerin sighed, defeated by meddling hobbits and their ways.

“Oh hush, dove,” Bella laughed, flicking water at him as she washed her hands in the nearby sink. “We’ll convert you to our way of thinking about proper footwear someday.”

“Your idea of ‘proper footwear’ is _dirt_ ,” Frerin huffed, valiantly trying to keep his lips from quirking up into a smile.

“Of course!” Bella chirped. “Much better than those monstrosities you strap on to your delicate little feet. Perhaps you just need some time to embrace the ‘dirt’?”

“No, not again, please Bella no,” Frerin suddenly whined.

“Boys, how’d you like to play hide and seek with your Uncle Frerin’s boots?” Bella grinned, earning herself two bright smiles as the lads scampered off. Fíli only limping slightly on his bandaged foot after clambering down from Frerin’s lap, tears forgotten in the face of a bit of mischief.

“Come on Bella,” Frerin pointlessly pleaded. “Last time they hid my boots I had a family of harvest mice take up residence in one of them.”

“And a lovely home they made too,” Bella nodded, grin still lingering on her lips as she set up the kettle for afternoon tea.

“Why do you hate me so?” Frerin lamented.

“I’m doing all this out of love,” Bella said, patting Frerin’s shoulder in a show of comfort and understanding.

“I really rather doubt that,” Frerin grumbled, shoulders slumping in resignation as the sound of childish giggles filled the air, quickly followed by the front door closing. If he was lucky, he’d get to his precious boots before the smaller, four legged residents of the Shire found them again.

With a snort of amusement, Bella headed to the pantry, leaving Frerin grumbling about hay in his socks and teeth marks in his buckles.

-x-X-x-

“Bilbo and Fíli Baggins! I thought I saw your sticky mitts peaking over the sill,” Marigold Chubb blustered, hands planted on her hips as she eyed the giggling pair munching on warm blueberry muffins, freshly pilfered from her kitchen window sill. “What would your alpha have to say?”

“What Papa doesn’t know won’t hurt him,” Bilbo piped up with all the certainty and authority a five-year-old faunt could muster.

“Oh? Is that right?” Marigold quirking a sceptical eyebrow even as she fought against the smile wanting to rise at the vigorously nodding omega faunts.

“Yep!” Fíli beamed. “Least that’s what Auntie Bella always says.”

Marigold couldn’t help but huff a laugh at that, fully aware of Belladonna’s antics, “As true as that might be, I think she might be a little more skilled at keeping things hidden than you two.”

Her words were met with two thoroughly confused expressions.

“Or do you think he’ll not notice the blueberry stains on your fingers? Or the crumbs on your shirts and Fíli’s face fuzz?”

The pair quickly looked at each other in childish panic, chubby little fingers springing into action to clumsily dust crumbs off the other. Their endeavour, however, proved futile as they only succeeded in making it worse.

A smear of blue stained Fíli’s soft whiskers, while Bilbo’s cream shirt suffered a similar fate.

Crouching down beside them, Marigold began plucking a few bits of grass and the odd leaf from their hair as she whispered conspiringly, “Bungo’s down at the market, if you run home now you might have just enough time to wash off before he gets back.”

With eager little nods, the boys jumped to their feet before darting off, hand in hand.

“Bye Missus Chubb!” Bilbo waved over his shoulder.

“Thank you for the muffins Missus Chubb!” Fíli added, grinning at her with blueberry stained lips.

Marigold watched, a small smile tugging at her lips, until they disappeared around the bend before heading back inside to her kitchen and the fresh batch of muffins in the oven. She’d have to replenish the muffins on the sill after the Baggins boys successful pilfering, ready for the next fauntlings daring enough to try their luck.

The whole set up was a good training exercise for the young ones, though it was couched in the excitement of a game. The temptation, and reward, of pilfered sweets often encouraged the younger faunts to nurture their fledgling bonds with the earth as they figured out ways to move around unseen and unheard.

If she hadn’t heard the giggling and, subsequently, seen the little fingers that lingered a little too long, Marigold probably wouldn’t have even known the little Baggins omegas were there.

At a mere five years old, that was quite a feat, especially for little Fíli.

But considering they were the family of one Belladonna Baggins, née Took, Marigold expected very little else of the mischievous duo.

-x-

“And what have you two been up to?” Frerin asked as the boys came tumbling through the gate. “You’re both as mucky as a miner.”

“Sshhh!” little blue stained fingers pressed against giggling lips. “Uncle Bungo’s not‘llowed to know.”

Smiling at the boys, even as his belly gave an uncomfortable twinge, Frerin dropped his voice to whisper, “Not allowed to know what?”

“We had muffins!” Bilbo blurted, louder than intended.

“Swiped ‘em from Missus Chubb’s window!” Fíli added, a little quieter than Bilbo, though not by much.

“Did you now?” Bungo said, watching them from the gate.

Frerin couldn’t help but laugh at Fíli and Bilbo’s reactions, both staring at him wide eyed, like startled little rabbits.

“I think you’ve been caught red handed, lads,” Frerin chuckled, pressing a hand against his lower abdomen in a vain attempt to ease the deep ache that had settled there. “Or perhaps it’s blue fingered in this case.”

Noting the gesture, Bungo quickly made his way to Frerin’s side. Resting his few purchases on the bench beside the omega, he cautiously felt Frerin’s forehead, frowning slightly at the low heat emanating from his skin, “Have you had your tea yet?”

“Amad?”

Frerin winced, though not from the discomfort of his brewing heat.

“I’m fine, mizimith,” he tried to reassure. Fíli only tended to called him ‘amad’ when he was worried or upset. It had become a thing of comfort for his dwarfling, like Belladonna’s more expensive camomile tea, while he’d settled on ‘adad’ for everyday use.

“Frerin?”

“I’ve not had it yet,” he admitted, avoiding Bungo’s eyes as the alpha sighed, making him feel like a disobedient dwarfling.

“Stay here, I’ll go and make you a cup,” he said, squeezing Frerin’s shoulder comfortingly before gathering up his purchases and heading inside.

Frerin nodded, not willing to disobey further, even if Bungo had couched it more as a suggestion than an order.

He still struggled during his heats. Though the pain was greatly lessened to a dull, bearable ache with the tea, he still found himself jumping at every and any alpha scent that wasn’t Bungo’s.

Although he was still instinctually wary of Bungo, he knew the alpha would protect him, and had done, in fact, during past heats when a young alpha had strayed a little too close.

Frerin still thought it strange that all it took to send the alphas running was for Bungo to relax his shoulders and rock slightly on his heels, thumbs hooked in his braces. It didn’t matter how many years passed, Frerin would forever be surprised, and grateful, that hobbit alphas weren’t aggressive or overtly dominant in the slightest.

“Amad,” Fíli called, tugging at Frerin’s sleeve till he looked at him, smiling. “Look what I can do.”

“And what’s that?” Frerin encouraged.

Looking a little nervous, Fíli knelt beside a small patch of mushrooms growing around the leg of the bench Frerin was sitting on. With blue stained fingertips, he reached out and gently brushed the closed cap of one of the fungi.

Smiling at the little tongue poking out and the brows creased in concentration, Frerin watched as the mushroom gradually grew a little bigger before unfurling under his dwarfling’s coaxing.

It had been a pleasant surprise the day Fíli had discovered a rather hobbit-like connection to the earth, his young omega spirit capable, and willing, to adapt and learn from the lessons all hobbits taught their faunts.

Bella had instantly taken to teaching and encouraging him, and after a week of half remembered stories about the great mushroom caverns of the Erebor of old, Frerin truly hadn’t been surprised when Fíli took a liking to fungi of all kinds.

“Beautifully done, mizimith,” Frerin praised, earning himself a brilliant grin.

It was a smile that soon dimmed, however, as Fíli shrugged his shoulders and said, somewhat self-depreciating, “Bilbo can still do better.”

“Bilbo is a hobbit, dear one,” Bungo piped up, emerging from Bag End, tea tray in hand. “He was created by Yavanna to have a deeper connection to the earth than other races. Mahal made dwarrow a little different.”

“What if I don’t wanna be a dwarf?” Fíli asked quietly, poking at the fleshy mushroom.

It was a question Fíli had been asking with more frequency lately and Frerin was fairly certain the Sackvilles and their faunts had something to do with it. But as it stood he had no proof, and no clue as to how to answer either.

“How about…” Bilbo started, trailing off as he gnawed on his lower lip in thought. “Um…a dwobbit?”

“Dwobbit?” Fíli asked, looking at his cousin in confusion.

“Yeah! You can be a dwobbit!” Bilbo said, flinging his arms around his cousin in his excitement over his new-found word, effectively knocking them both to the ground.

“And what, exactly, is a dwobbit?” Frerin asked, gratefully accepting a cup of steaming, sweet smelling tea from Bungo, as the alpha settled beside him.

“You can’t grow stuff, can you Uncle Frerin?” Bilbo asked in place of answering as he lounged on top of his cousin, poking Fíli’s fuzzy cheeks till he blew raspberries.

“No, I can’t.”

“But Fee can! So, he’s a hobbit.”

“But you said he’s a dwobbit,” Bungo pointed out.

“He’s still got dwarfy ears,” Bilbo pointed out, his tone suggesting Frerin and Bungo were being rather silly for not noticing. “So, he’s a dwobbit.”

“Indeed?” Bungo murmured over the rim of his tea cup. “Well, do dwobbits like gingerbread, I wonder?”

“Gingerbread?” both lads perked up, a mess of limbs on the grass.

Bungo just smiled as he tilted the plate of gingerbread for the young omegas to see, chuckling with Frerin as they scrambled to their feet to grab a square with their blueberry stained fingers. All questions and crises of self forgotten in the face of their treat.

-x-X-x-

Belladonna’s birthday party was in full swing when the sun finally touched the horizon.

Sitting quietly at a table, mug of ale in hand, Frerin watched the dancers under the Party Tree twirl and jump around each other, hands clasping for a few beats before trailing away in an almost caressing manner.

It was fluid and lively, full of happiness and an innate fun. So very unlike the dances he’d been taught as a dwarfling. There was no rigid structure here, no overriding beat.

The jubilant atmosphere soaked into his bones, easing his posture as his bootless foot tapped along with the music.

“Uncle Frerin.”

Looking down, Frerin found young Primula Brandybuck smiling up at him, holding out a flower crown.

“Is that for me?” he asked, carefully placing his mug on the table, far enough away from the edge that curious little fingers couldn’t reach it.

“Yep!”

Bending down obligingly as his waistcoat was tugged, Frerin smiled as Primula plopped the crown on his head, wiggling and poking it a few times before she was finally happy with its placement.

“Pretty,” she declared, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek before darting off to re-join Drogo, Bilbo, and Fíli where they sat in a circle. Each carefully weaving flower crowns to bestow on those they deemed worthy.

Reaching up, Frerin gently ran his fingers over his flower crown. It was far from perfect, a little wonky, and a little loose in places. It was a far cry from the crown he’d worn in his youth, made by the finest craftsman in Erebor, with the finest metals and jewels.

Frerin smiled, comparing the two.

There was no doubt in his mind which was the superior crown.

And it was made by giggling faunts.

-x-X-x-

Bag End’s door shook on its hinges as it crashed against the wall from the force of an upset eight-year-old dwarfling slamming into it.

 “Fíli!” Bilbo called, barely catching the door as it bounced back to close. “They don’t know what they’re talking about, don’t listen to them!”

Fíli just shook his head, refusing to listen to Bilbo as he stomped his way to the kitchen.

The taunts of the other fauntlings echoing in his stupid _round_ ears.

Yanking open a drawer, Fíli rummaged around till his chubby little fingers found the pair of scissors Belladonna often used to trim Bungo and Bilbo’s curls.

Bilbo froze in the kitchen doorway, staring wide eyed at the scissors as he hesitantly asked, “Fíli? What are you doing?”

Ignoring the question, Fíli grabbed a hunk of hair, quickly hacking it off before he could second guess himself.

“Fíli!” Bilbo gasped, shifting forward in an aborted attempt to stop him.

Sniffling, Fíli watched the strands slip from his fingers, the golden hues glinting in the warm sunlight as they drifted to the tiled floor.

As he turned to look at Bilbo, the braid Frerin had weaved into his hair that morning slipped forward to brush against his cheek. A sob escaped his lips at the gentle touch and a dam seemed to break within him.

Yanking the braid away from his face, he snapped at it with the scissors till it fell to the floor. He didn’t stop cutting till the rest of his once shoulder length waves curled around his ears.

Just like a proper hobbit’s should.

“Uncle Frerin is gunna be _so_ mad at you,” Bilbo said, voice barely above a whisper as he hesitantly reached out to tug on a blond curl.

“I don’t _care_ ,” Fíli sniffled, scrubbing at stray hair that had stuck to his tear stained cheeks. “I don’t wanna be a dwarf.”

“But you’re not a dwarf,” Bilbo tried. “You’re a dwobbit, remember?”

“But I want to be a _proper_ _hobbit_.”

Chewing on his bottom lip, Bilbo looked at the scattered hair on the floor. Nudging it with a toe as an idea began to take shape, “I think I know something that might help.”

“What?” Fíli asked, wiping his runny nose on his sleeve.

“You get the bowl, I’ll get the flour,” Bilbo said, a grin forming as he darted off to the pantry, leaving a thoroughly confused Fíli in his wake.

Not sure what else to do, Fíli carefully side stepped his hair to reach for one of Bella’s mixing bowls on the counter. The earth rolled, ever so slightly, under his feet, helping him reach that extra inch as he stretched on his tiptoes.

As soon as Bilbo skidded back into the kitchen he dumped two handfuls of flour into the bowl, causing a cloud of white to billow up and make Fíli sneeze.

“What are you doing?” Fíli asked once his sneezing fit had subsided, watching Bilbo in confusion as he took the bowl to the sink and added a little water.

“I’m making that sticky stuff,” Bilbo answered as he grabbed one of Belladonna’s freshly washed wooden spoons from the draining rack to stir his white concoction.

“Why?” Fíli asked, subconsciously reaching for a braid to tug on, and subsequently wincing when his fingers encountered the roughly shorn edges of his hair.

“You’ll see, go sit.”

Perching on a chair at the kitchen table, Fíli watched curiously as Bilbo knelt down in front of him.

A swift gasp escaped him when Bilbo proceeded to slather the sticky substance over the tops of his feet, “That’s cold!”

“Sorry,” Bilbo mumbled, not sounding sorry in the slightest as he set the bowl to one side and gathered up handfuls of hair.

“What…?” Fíli started before comprehension dawned as Bilbo slapped the hair onto his feet.

“There,” Bilbo grinned, admiring his work, “now you’ve got proper hobbit feet, no matter what those nasty Sackvilles say.”

“Thank you, Bilbo,” Fíli breathed, staring wide eyed at his now furry feet.

-x-

“Fíli, lad, what happened to your hair?” Bungo asked, shock evident in his tone as he took in the blond locks curling round the dwarfling’s ears.

“I cut it off,” Fíli shrugged, not even looking up from the large book on elvish lore he and Bilbo were reading through.

Squatting down beside the boys where they’d spread out in front of the unlit hearth, Bungo gently ran his fingers through the shortened strands, “I can see that, but what I’m wondering about is the _why_ of it.”

“Because I don’t wanna be a dwarf anymore,” Fíli huffed, self-consciously tugging on his curls as he sat up to show Bungo his furry feet. “Look, I’ve got proper hobbit feet now.”

“So you do,” Bungo mused, running his fingers over the delicate arch of Fíli’s foot, eliciting a small giggle from him. “But I thought you were a dwobbit, not a dwarf?”

“That’s what I said!” Bilbo piped up. “But those nasty Sackvilles kept saying mean things.”

“The Sackvilles?” Bungo asked, a frown tugging at his brow even as Fíli shoved at his cousin, hissing at him to _be quiet_.

“Yep,” Bilbo said, slapping at Fíli to stop him shoving at his shoulder again. “Otho has some of his older cousins visiting and they picked on Fíli for being a dwarf, even though I kept telling them he’s a dwobbit.”

“Fíli?” seeing the dwarfling was close to tears Bungo quickly pulled him into his arms.

“They called me soft footed,” Fíli mumbled, burying his face against Bungo’s chest, fists wrinkling the previously immaculate waistcoat. “They called me a freak because I had hair on my face, not my feet.”

“They said he couldn’t be a Baggins,” Bilbo added, little body now positively vibrating with indignant anger at the slurs thrown at his cousin. “But he is too a Baggins!”

“Of course, Fíli is a Baggins,” Bungo agreed, nudging the dwarfling away from his chest so he could retrieve his handkerchief and wipe away the few tears that had managed to escape. “You’ve always been a Baggins and you always will be. Even if you decide to take on your future spouse’s name, you will still be a Baggins.”

“But the Sackvilles said…”

“Never you mind what those dreadful Sackvilles said, my boy, they’ve never been able to hold their tongues nor keep their unwanted opinions to themselves.”

“So, what they said wasn’t true?” Fíli asked, lower lip trembling slightly as he held back his tears.

“Not a single word of it,” Bungo assured. “The Sackvilles are a distasteful bunch, not respectable by any means.”

“So why did they say it?” Bilbo asked, anger melting into confusion at the notion that _anyone_ would want to be mean to his cousin.

“Jealousy, I should think. They covet the respectability that comes with the Baggins name. They’re likely jealous that you’ve been given what they want, so they try to slander your name with the ridiculous notion that if they can’t have it then neither can you.”

“I still don’t want to be a dwarf,” Fíli pouted.

“Alright,” Bungo conceded. “But what’s wrong with being a dwobbit? I thought you liked being a bit of both.”

“I do,” Fíli admitted somewhat reluctantly, “but they all keep calling me a dwarf and I don’t want to be. I’m _not_ a dwarf!”

“Then we’ll just have to politely correct people until they understand, like when some hobbits accidently call me Bingo. How does that sound?”

Fíli thought the suggestion over for a moment before finally conceding, “Ok.”

“Good. Now then, how about a nice cup of tea and some biscuits to wash away the distasteful words of those nasty Sackvilles?” Bungo asked, groaning as he straightened up from his crouch.

“Will I have to wash off my feet?”

“I see no harm in keeping your feet fuzzy for a little while longer, at least until your Auntie Bella dunks you in the bath before bed,” Bungo chuckled, knowing his Belladonna would give Fíli a thorough scrubbing in an attempt to wash away any and all hurtful words thrown at the young omega, just as he was attempting to do with tea.

“Thank you, Uncle,” Fíli beamed, tears finally drying as he hugged Bungo quickly before darting off after his cousin before Bilbo could claim and devour all the best biscuits.

Smiling at his boys’ antics, Bungo followed them into the kitchen, stealing one of the best biscuits on his way to set the kettle to boil, to the indignant cries of his boys.

Tomorrow he would pay a visit to the Sackvilles. The Baggins’ alpha could tolerate a great many things, including, but not limited to, having honey in places no self-respecting hobbit should ever find it.

He would not, however, under any circumstances, tolerate anyone upsetting his boys nor slandering the Baggins name.

No. The Sackvilles would most certainly be having a visit on the morrow.

But for now, he had tea to make, two energetic omegas to entertain, and a few damage control plans to devise for when Frerin and Belladonna returned from the market and the dwarven omega caught sight of Fíli’s new hair length.

-x-

When Frerin didn’t appear for dinner, they assumed he needed more time to adjust to the shock of Fíli cutting his hair.

When he didn’t appear for supper, Bella and Bungo began to worry.

As Bungo ushered the boys to bed, Bella knocked on Frerin’s door.

“Dove?” she called, carefully pushing open the door so as not to startle him.

“Why is it always the hair?” Frerin croaked, voice barely above a whisper.

Walking into the room, Bella finally spotted Frerin sitting on the floor beside the bed, knees drawn up to his chest, as his hands fisted painfully in his hair. His eyes fixed on the scissors resting on the floor before his bare, pale feet.

“Oh dove,” Bella sighed, quickly moving to the distressed omega’s side.

“If I didn’t have _this hair_ I wouldn’t have been singled out,” Frerin sobbed, rocking himself slightly. “If Fíli didn’t have it, he wouldn’t’ve been picked on. It’s always the hair!”

“Frerin…” Bella tried but he didn’t seem to hear her.

“Maybe Fíli’s right,” Frerin snarled, hands sharply tugging at his hair as he lifted his head from his knees, tear tracks glistening on his cheeks. “Just cut it all off, can’t be used against you then.”

“Frerin!” Bella jumped when Frerin’s arm suddenly shot out to snatch up the scissors.

“Better to get rid of it, tarnish it,” Frerin babbled, trembling fingers trying, unsuccessfully, to use the scissors. “Fool’s gold is worthless after all.”

“Frerin, think about this,” Bella cautioned, unsure what to do.

She didn’t expect the door to suddenly open, the sharp movement causing Frerin to cry out in fear and drop the scissors to cover his head with his arms.

“Amad!” Fíli cried, distress clear in his voice as he bolted across the room and slammed into Frerin’s side before Bella could stop him. “Amad, I’m sorry, m’sorry, m’sorry!”

Frerin jolted at the impact, cringing away before Fíli’s voice seemed to register.

“Fíli, madtithbirzul,” uncurling, Frerin wrapped his arms around his crying dwarfling and drew him onto his lap.

Bella watched as Frerin, eyes still a little unfocused and distant, wiped at Fíli’s tear stained face.

Fíli, for his part, snuggled as close to Frerin as he could, little hands desperately grasping one of Frerin’s braids. His continued distress obvious in the whimpers of _amad_ that interspersed his sniffles.

“It’s alright, it’s not your fault,” Frerin soothed, gently rocking Fíli, voice still ragged from his own distress. “You’ve nothing to be sorry for.”

“But you’re upset because of me.”

“No, mizimith,” Frerin promised. “You didn’t upset me, you just…surprised me is all.”

“Then why are you crying?” Fíli asked, bringing the fingers of his free hand up to wipe at Frerin’s wet cheeks.

“Bad memories. Sometimes they creep up when I least expect it.”

Nodding, Fíli snuggled back against his chest before quietly asking, “Can I stay with you tonight?”

“Fíli,” Frerin sighed.

He didn’t really want Fíli near him for a while, fearing a relapse and scaring his dwarfling further. But he also knew that focusing on Fíli often allowed him to keep further attacks at bay, at least for a while.

“Please, amad?” Fíli begged.

It was his continued use of ‘amad’ that finally made him give in, there was very little he’d deny Fíli when he used the term.

“Alright,” he relented. “But just for tonight.”

“Frerin?” Bella questioned softly.

“I’ll be alright, _we’ll_ be alright.”

-x-X-x-

Frerin had just finished setting up for afternoon tea in the parlour, under the watchful eye of Bella and Laura Baggins, when Bilbo and Fíli came running through the house.

Quick as a flash, Laura’s hand shot out to grab Fíli’s arm.

“Fíli, my boy, what on the Green Lady’s Earth happened to your hair?” she asked, tugging him closer to inspect the jagged edges of the shortened curls.

“Um…” Fíli hesitated, looking uncertainly at Frerin as he fidgeted.

“The Sackvilles were picking on him again, Grandma,” Bilbo quickly offered when the awkward silence stretched just a beat too long.

“Oh, my sweet boy,” Laura sighed. “Let me give you a bit of advice that my grandmother gave me. You too, Bilbo dear.”

Standing close to their grandmother, both boys listened obediently.

“Now then, a judicious choice of friends is most essential to the happiness of a household. An acquaintance who indulges in scandal about their neighbours, should be avoided as a pestilence. So never you mind what those Sackvilles say, understand? You’ll always be a Baggins, more so than that wretched omega your Uncle Longo married ever will be.”

“Thank you, Grandma,” Fíli murmured, hugging the older Baggins omega.

“Your quite welcome, my boy. Now off you go, I’m sure the pair of you have some kind of mischief to be getting up to.”

Once the boys had slipped out the front door, Laura turned back to the spread before her.

“Nicely done,” she praised, taking a sip of the tea Frerin had prepared for her. “We’ll make a proper hobbit out of you yet. Now then, did you hear about Rina Diggle’s latest?”

“Dina’s younger sister?” Bella asked, eagerly leaning forward as she plucked a small fancy pastry from the tray.

“Indeed. Well, she’s been seen stepping out with not one, but _three_ different alphas, one of which is a Bracegirdle of all things!”

“No.”

Frerin slumped back in his seat, listening to the Baggins omegas gossip, even though Laura had only just told the boys it was something polite society didn’t engage in.

Every time he thought he understood hobbits, something new always came along to surprise him.

-x-X-x-

“Do you have to go to Bree?” Fíli asked, legs kicking back and forth where he sat on Frerin’s bed.

Frerin sighed, pausing for a moment in packing his bag, “Yes, Fíli, I have to go.”

“Why can’t I come with you?”

“Because you have to say here with your aunt and cousin.”

“But _why_?”

“Fíli,” Frerin groaned, he’d been answering the same questions for the past _month_ , ever since he’d decided to travel to Bree on Bungo’s next trip.

“But you’re _leaving_ me!”

“Fíli, madtithbirzul,” dropping down next to Fíli, Frerin gathered his pouting dwarfling into his arms. “I’m not leaving you. It’s only a week, I’ll be back before you know it.”

“But that’s so _long_!” Fíli whined, burrowing into Frerin as he reached up to clutch a braid.

“Mizimith,” Frerin murmured, stroking Fíli’s short curls.

He understood Fíli’s worry. He could feel the same unease bubbling inside himself.

In almost ten years of living in the Shire, he’d never left its borders, he’d never had any desire to do so.

But Fíli’s tenth birthday was fast approaching, and though the self-proclaimed dwobbit would happily ignore his dwarrow heritage if Frerin let him, he was still reaching an important milestone that Frerin couldn’t, himself, ignore.

Dwarrow received their first weapon on their tenth birthday, and began combat training shortly after.

Frerin had no means to forge a weapon himself, his grandfather had stolen him away before he’d even had the chance to find his craft. But he knew there were smiths in Bree, and he could still remember the first basic forms all dwarrow were taught.

He only hoped it’d be enough until they could find a Ranger willing to further Fíli’s education.

“You _promise_ you’ll come back, amad?”

Hugging Fíli tighter, Frerin silently cursed himself for allowing Fíli, however inadvertently, to pick up his own anxieties.

“I promise I’ll come back. And if you’re good for your Auntie Bella, I might even bring some sweets back for you.”

“Ok,” Fíli sniffled.

“Do you want to help me finish packing?” Frerin asked, smiling when Fíli nodded against his chest, even though he made no effort to move away. “Come on then.”

This trip wouldn’t be easy, Frerin knew that.

He had no idea how he’d react to Men or any dwarrow they came across.

He didn’t know how he’d cope not knowing where Fíli was or what he was up to, didn’t know how to do without his bright smile sent his way every morning.

It would be difficult.

But it had to be done.

It had been almost ten years.

And Frerin refused to be a coward any longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...was that alright? I've been equal parts terrified and desperate to post this.  
> Do the time skips work? I hope they work.
> 
> The basic research I did for just this chapter was ridiculous. It ranged from 'when babies start talking and walking' to 'does Bag End have a draining rack'? (answer - it does, you can just about see it in the kitchen scenes between Bilbo and Gandalf in The Fellowship of the Ring). I've even read Mrs. Beeton's book on household management, because I'm becoming convinced that woman was a hobbit or something. (the 'advice' Laura Baggins gives is pretty much straight out of Mrs. Beeton's book).  
> I also had to change and shift about a few things once I realised that at this time Lobelia isn't a Sackville, she's a Bracegirdle - I've been staring at hobbit family trees so much my head hurts....as a side note to this, Rina Diggle doesn't exist, but Dina Diggle does, she's married to Gundahar Bolger, and is Primula Baggins', nee Brandybuck, great-grandmother on her father's side...yeah, does your head hurt too yet?
> 
> Anywho, I should stop rambling on now. If you've got any questions, or something doesn't quite make sense, please don't hesitate to ask. I've been staring at this chapter for so long that even though it makes sense to me, it might not to others.
> 
> The next chapter will be these same ten-ish years but in Erebor, written in the same style with time jumps and such.
> 
> Khuzdul used in this chapter:  
> Madtithbirzul - little golden heart (whether this is right or not, I don't know, I got it on google)  
> Mizimith - jewel that is young  
> Amad - mother  
> Adad - father

**Author's Note:**

> Updates will be just as sporadic as anything else I've ever written, for that I apologise, but I cannot help it.


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